THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 

William  Stock 


ft,  Jfoitu, 

* 


& 


THE 


IOETHERI  HARP 


CONTAINING 


SONGS  MOM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE, 


FOREST  MELODIES. 


BY 

MARION  ALBINA   BIGELOW. 


PUBLISHED  BY  CARLTON  &  PHILLIPS, 

200    MULBERKY-STREET. 

1853. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 
A.  F.  BIGELOW, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  o.  the  Northern 
District  of  New-York. 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


MRS.  BIGELOW  has  been  for  several  years  a 
regular  contributor  to  the  columns  of  several 
periodicals,  and,  thus  far,  has  had  no  reason  to 
reproach  the  public  with  any  lack  of  attention 
to  her  poetical  productions.  Nearly  three  hun 
dred  have  thus  been  published ;  and  the  flatter 
ing  reception  they  have  enjoyed,  seems  to  afford 
ground  for  the  belief  that  this  publication  will 
not  be  unsuccessful. 

The  Editor  has  found  no  lack  of  materials, 
having  been  permitted  to  examine  more  than  a 
thousand  manuscripts,  Those  which  have  been 
selected,  very  fairly  represent  the  character  of 
the  rest,  except  that  there  is,  among  the  former, 
a  much  larger  class  of  elegies,  and  a  smaller 


4  EUITOK'S  PKEFACE. 

proportion  of  sacred  and  irregular  pieces,  similar 
to  "  Are  they  Gone  ?"  and  the  "Penitent's  Offer 
ing,"  in  this  volume. 

So  large  a  number  of  elegies  have  been 
selected,  for  the  reason  that  such  composition^ 
are  more  popular  among  the  masses  than  any 
other  species  of  serious  literature.  The  author 
is  wholly  incapable  of  levity,  and  the  reader  will 
find  nothing  of  it  in  any  of  her  productions. 

As  in  most  other  cases,  we  are  able  to  dis 
cern,  in  the  early  history  of  the  author's  life,  tin- 
cause  of  that  singular  melancholy  which  breathes 
so  sadly  in  many  of  her  productions.  She  was. 
while  yet  in  her  father's  house,  called  to  pact 
with  one  sister  and  three  brothere  in  succession. 
Her  affection  for  them  was  intense,  and  her 
sorrow  overwhelming.  The  brothers  all  died 
of  consumption ;  she  saw  them  die,  and  never 
could  forget  the  scene.  With  all  the  devo 
tion  of  a  sister's  heart,  she  attended  the  first 
until  he  sunk  into  the  arms  of  death.  Month 
after  month  she  hung  over  the  bedside  of  the 
second,  anticipating  every  wish,  and  exhausting 
her  strength,  until  she  stood  by  his  grave.  Her 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  5 

cup  of  sorrow  was  now  too  full — she  could  not 
bear  it !  For  several  weeks  she  lay  on  the 
verge  of  the  grave,  tortured  with  fever,  and  de 
liriously  talking  of  her  brothers.  As  her  strength 
slowly  returned,  while  the  scenes  through  which 
she  had  passed  seemed  like  the  parts  of  a  troubled 
dream,  she  listened  once  more  to  the  consump 
tive's  cough.  Her  misery  was  all  repeated,  in 
the  slow  decline  and  death  of  another  to  whom 
her  affections  clung, 

"Like  the  close  tendrils  of  the  clinging  vine." 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  her  muse  should  drop  a 
tear  over  the  remembrance  of  pleasure,  and 
thenceforth  devote  herself  to  the  shades  of  the 
willow,  and  the  memory  of  the  dead  ? 

It  is  believed  that  the  following  poems — so 
simple,  so  true  to  nature,  and  so  free  from  ob 
scure  allusions — will  find  an  echoing  chord  in  the 
hearts  of  thousands.  They  are  offered  to  the 
public  without  apologies.  Probably  no  book 
was  ever  yet  published  which  was  in  no  point 
open  to  criticism.  The  reader  will  be  able  to 
find  here  a  few  bad  rhymes,  some  faults  in 


6  EDITOK'3  PREFACE. 

metre,  and  some  prosaic  sentences ;  so  he  could 
in  the  best  volume  of  poetiy  now  extant.  It 
may  be  proper  to  add,  the  editor  would  have 
attempted  some  emendations  did  not  the  author 
prefer  her  original  forms  of  expression. 

A.  F.  BIG  FLOW. 


CONTENTS. 


Genius Page  11 

Angel  of  His  Presence 14 

Ontario 15 

Wounding  Words 16 

Children  Disinterred 16 

Nature's  Voices 18 

Angelic  Ministries 19 

The  Angel  Visitant 20 

The  Absent  One 22 

Falling  Leaves 23 

The  Better  Land 24 

To  a  Friend 26 

1  Corinthians  ii,  9 27 

Reply  to  a  Dying  Brother * 29 

The  Old  Chapel 31 

Charity 32 

Divine  Chastening  Illustrated 33 

The  Two  Poets 35 

Ellen 38 

Excellency  of  Christ 39 

Struggle  on 41 

Rev.  L.  D.  Gibbs 42 

To  the  Bible 44 

The  Dewy  Flower 45 

Children  at  Play 46 

Evening  Shadows 47 


8  CONTENTS. 

In  memory  of  David  Blish Page  48 

Spiritual  Calmness 49 

My  Mother 50 

The  Blind  Husband 51 

"Thou  shalt  see  greater  things" 52 

Cheering  Thoughts 53 

Mrs.  Rev.  E.  Pease 54 

resignation 55 

Theron 56 

The  First  Flower  of  Spring 57 

The  Lone  Surviver 59 

Teacher's  Farewell 60 

"Feed  my  Lamhs" 61 

Farewell  to  Spring 62 

Farewell  to  my  Harp 63 

Two  Smothered  Children 64 

The  Charms  of  Autumn 65 

Two  Roses , G7 

The  Missionary 67 

"  Thy  Brother  shall  rise  again" v.. 68 

Hon.  Silas  Wright 69 

To  Miss  S.  M.G 70 

A  Response 72 

<  >n  the  Deafh  of  a  Child 73 

The  Grave-yard 75 

They  are  Passing 76 

A  voice  from  Africa 77 

My  Mother 78 

To  Mt-lissa 79 

Angel  Ministries 80 

Penitent's  Offering 80 

ToAlraira 82 

To  a  Dying  Penitent 82 

A  Walk  to  the  Grave-yard.. 83 

The  New  Year 84 

The  First  Grief. ...  86 


CONTENTS.  9 

A  Lost  Spirit Page  87 

The  Memory  of  Home 88 

Have  Faith  in  God 89 

The  Old  Rock 90 

He  Knoweth  the  Way  that  I  take •  92 

Farewell  to  Winter 94 

White  Robes 95 

The  Bride's  Farewell 96 

The  Sailor's  Hymn * 97 

The  Divine  Signet 98 

Mother,  Home,  and  Heaven 99 

Passing  Away 101 

The  Consumptive 103 

The  Dove 105 

Love— A  Confession 100 

The  Old  Year 108 

The  Sister's  Inquiry 108 

The  Winds 109 

An  Autumnal  Evening 112 

"I'll  Wake  Again" 113 

Christmas  Morning 114 

The  Bride 116 

The  Steamer's  Bell 118 

Mildly  the  Sun 119 

To  my  Father 120 

The  Spirit  of  Liberty 121 

The  Thousand  Islands  of  the  St.  Lawrence 122 

My  Brother 124 

A  Burial  at  Sea 127 

.To  a  Monthly  Pink 128 

A  Scattered  Household 130 

Sudden  Storms 132 

The  Forgotten 133 

Distant  View  of  the  River 134 

The  White  Cloud 135 

The  Deserted  Cottage 136 


1 0  CONTENTS. 

The  Young  Disciple Page  138 

Let  me  Sleep 139 

Hope  and  Fear , 140 

Clouds  at  Sunset 141 

Is  it  Nothing  to  Thee? 142 

The  Broken  Harp 144 

The  Drunkard's  Bride 146 

Thoughts  in  Autumn 148 

What  is  Submission? 150 

Song  to  the  Birds 151 

Birds  Wiser  than  Men 153 

Summer  Noon 154 

Trial,  a  Blessing 155 

To  the  Western  Breeze 156 

The  Broken  Pencil 157 

Happy  New  Year 158 

Are  they  Gone? 159 

Angels 161 

The  Vine 162 

The  Moon 163 

Falls  in  Parishville 164 

The  Warning  Voice 165 

The  Farewell 167 

The  Darkness  of  Grief 167 

To  Marianne 168 

Adelia 169 

Be  of  Good  Cheer 171 

M.  W.  S , 172 

Unspoken  Gratitude .*. 173 

Send  me  that  Flower 173 

Pew  Drops 175 


SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


GENIUS. 

Founded  on  an  incident  which  transpired  at  the  Natural 
Bridge  in  Virginia,  as  related  by  Elihu  Burritt,  in  his 
"Lectures  on  Genius." 

TWAS  midday  o'er  that  mighty  arch, 
Which  Nature's  hand  hath  framed  ; 

And,  far  beneath,  the  Cedar  Creek 
Then  in  the  sunlight  flamed. 

In  the  rough  channel  deep  below, 

Three  rosy  children  stood ; 
Uncovered  was  each  thoughtful  brow, 

Beside  the  sweeping  flood. 

Lo !  now,  with  earnest,  curious  eye, 

They  read  in  letters  deep, 
Name  after  name  engraven  high, 

Along  the  rocky  steep. 


12  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

At  once  they  climb  that  jutting  rock, 
Which  might  the  bravest  dare, 

And  in  rude  letters  carve  their  names 
Deep  in  the  limestone  there ! 

They  all  descend  again,  save  one, — 
One,  with  a  dauntless  eye, 

Is  reading,  far  above  his  own, 
A  name  engraven  high. 

It  is  a  name  to  Freedom  dear, 
Our  country's  noblest  son, — 

"  My  humble  name — I  '11  write  it  there, 
"  By  that  of  Washington !" 

'Tis  done — yet  onward,  upward  still, 

Fast  he  pursues  his  flight, 
Till,  from  an  op'ning  o'er  his  head, 

Rushes  a  stronger  light. 

Many  have  gather'd  hastily, 

To  see  our  hero  there ; 
Anon,  he  hears  the  voice  of  praise, 

Or  cry  of  faint  despair ! 

But  still  he  toils  the  vast  ascent, 

Beyond  the  reach  of  aid ; 
Still  for  his  patient,  tireless  feet 

Niche  nftor  niohe  is  made. 


13 


1848. 


He  pauses — turns  a  look  beneath  ! 

What  arm  can  save  him  now  ? 
A  dizziness  comes  o'er  his  brain, 

A  paleness  o'er  his  brow  ! 

His  father's  hand  a  strong  noose  flings 
From  the  high  archway  there ; — 

A  moment,  and  that  slight  form  swings, 
Suspended  in  the  air. 

And  now  the  parent  clasps  his  child, 
With  tones  of  transport  loud ; 

And  mingled  shouts  of  rapture  swell 
From  the  assembled  crowd. 

Is  it  not  thus  with  those  who  climb 
The  dangerous  heights  of  fame, 

To  write  imperishably  there 
A  name,  an  humble  name  ? 

Genius  must  never  slack  his  course, 
Nor  pause  to  look  beneath ; 

One  reckless  glance  at  sordid  earth 
May  bring  impending  death, — 

Unless,  thou  venturous  boy,  like  thine, 

His  Father's  hand  of  love 
Send  succour  from  the  arch  of  heaven, 

And  take  his  child  above. 


14          SONGS  FROM  HIE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 
ANGEL  OF  HIS  PRESENCE. 

I»  all  their  affliction  he  was  afflicted,  and  the  Angel  of  his 
presence  saved  them.— ISAIAH  Isiii,  0. 

CHRISTIAN,  in  the  hour  of  sickness, 

When  the  fever'd  pulse  was  high, 
Did  the  Angel  of  his  presence 

Pass  before  thy  languid  eye  ? 
Were  his  arms  then  laid  beneath  thee, 

Yielding  pure  and  tranquil  rest  ? 
Was  thine  aching  head  then  pillow'd 

On  the  dear  Redeemer's  breast? 

When  around  thy  rugged  pathway 

Clouds  were  gath'ring  thick  and  fast ; 
When  the  world  seem'd  cold  and  hollow, 

And  thou  couldst  not  bear  its  blast ; 
Didst  thou  then,  amid  the  darkness, 

See  a  bright,  angelic  form  ? 
'Twas  the  Angel  of  his  presence, 

To  protect  and  shield  from  harm ! 

When  in  gloomy  hours  of  anguish 

Thou  didst  kneel  beside  the  tomb, 
And,  with  gushing  tears  of  sorrow, 

Strive  to  penetrate  the  gloom; 
O !  the  Angel  of  his  presence 

Then  was  near,  divinely  near, 
And  thou  heard'st  his  counsels  stealing, 

Soft  as  whispers,  to  thine  ear! 


UNTAKiO.  1 6 

Christian,  when  the  waves  of  Jordan, 

Rolling  from  the  further  shore, 
Fiercely  surge,  and  dash  about  thee, 

And  thou  tremblest  at  their  roar ; 
Then,  0 !  then,  amid  the  darkness, 

One  will  linger  at  thy  side ; 
Yea,  the  Angel  of  his  presence 

Then  will  bear  thee  o'er  the  tide ! 

1845. 

ONTARIO. 

ONTARIO  !  thy  deep-blue  wave 
Shines  in  my  mem'ry  clear  to-day ; 

I  see  the  shores  thy  waters  lave 
In  beauty  stretching  far  away. 

I  see  the  vessels  on  thy  breast 
With  snowy  sails  go  speeding  on; 

I  see  the  sunset  kiss  imprest, 
And  stars  appearing,  one  by  one. 

0 !  beautiful  was  that  wild  scene, 

And  beautiful  that  stilly  night, 
When  o'er  thy  waves  of  glimmering  sheen 

We  took  of  late  our  westward  flight ! 

In  thought  how  oft  I  trace  the  track 
We  made  across  thy  smooth  wave  then! 

How  oft  the  mind  goes  hurrying  back, 
To  live  that  evening  o'er  again ! 

1846. 


16  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

WOUNDING  WORDS. 
MORE  fearful  is  their  -sound 

Than  the  quick,  sharp,  steel-bow's  twang ; 
And  deadlier  far  the  wound 

Than  that  of  the  serpent's  fang ; 
And  severer  far  the  blow 

Than  that  of  the  rankling  dart, 
Bidding  the  life-blood  flow 

From  the  writhing,  quiv'ring  heart. 

Wounds  by  the  pointed  steel, 

Though  deep  and  severe  they  be, 
We  hope  to  see  them  heal, 

We  hope  for  a  remedy; 
But  woe  to  thy  frail  heart, 

If  wounded  by  rankling  words ! 
The  keen  and  growing  smart 

No  room  for  relief  affords ! 

1844. 

CHILDREN  DISINTERRED. 

Suggested  by  seeing  four  children  disinterred,  and  placed 
by  the  side  of  their  mother. 

COME,  lowly  ones,  and  take  your  places  now 
Beside  the  mother,  who  so  long  had  wept, 

Had  mourn'd  your  absence  with  an  aching  brow, 
And  eyes  that  stream'd  with  tears  while  others 
slept ; 


CHILDREN    DISINTERRED.  17 

JM 

Whose  heart  with  Mem'ry  oft  its  vigils  kept, 
Presenting  to  her  eye  each  lovely  form, 

As  when  around  her  ye  so  lightly  stept, 
Bidding  her  see  once  more  the  smiles  so  warm, 
Which  o'er  her  evening  days  had  shed  a  hallow'd 
charm. 

Come,  gather  round  her  now !  she  had  not  thought 

To  see  you  leave  again  your  mossy  tomb — 
But  ye  are  rising  from  that  sacred  spot ; 

The  turf  is  broken — one  by  one  ye  come  ! 

Is  it  to  cheer  again  that  lonely  home, 
From  which  the  sunny  smile  with  you  departed  ? 

0  !  I  have  sat  beside  that  hearth  of  gloom, 
When  at  your  names  the  fondest  tears  have  started, 
And  I  have  wept  with  them,  the  lone  and  broken 
hearted  ! 

And  now  ye  come !  is  it  to  cheer  the  heart 

Of  the  fond  father,  with  your  smiles  of  love  ? 
Ye  come  again !  and  is  it  to  impart 

A  gladness  to  the  home  where  friends  still 

move  ? 

To  tread  the  path  where  ye  were  wont  to  rove — 
The  path  left  desolate  by  wood  and  dell — 

The  wildest  haunts  of  streamlet,  and  the  grove  ? 
To  list  again  the  music  of  their  swell, 
Which  has  been  sadder  far  since  hearing  your 
farewell  ? 

2 


IS  SONGS   yitOM   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Nay,  nay  !  ye  come  not  with  the  laughing  eyes, 

And  ringlets  streaming  in  the  sunny  air, 
And  bounding  step,  that  with  affection  flies 

To  meet  the  tender  friend,  and  soothe  his  care ! 

Nay,  nay !  ye  gather  slowly,  sadly  there, 
Around  your  mother  with  a  silent  brow, 

And  naught  can  wake  your  wonted  smiles  so 

fair, 

Not  e'en  the  richness  of  the  sunset  glow, 
Which  now  in  sweetness  rests  on  all  things  here 
below. 

She  welcomes  not  her  children,  as  they  come 

To  rest  beside  her,  as  in  days  gone  by ! 
That  mother — ah !  her  brow  is  dark  with  gloom, 

And  dimness,  too,  hath  darkly  veil'd  her  eye ; 

Her  breast  no  more  can  heave  the  painful  sigh ! 
Come,  rest  beside  her,  free  from  grief  and  care, 

Together  now  hi  darkness  sweetly  lie ! 
Ye  of  the  laughing  lips  and  sunny  hair, 
We  leave  you  to  repose  in  solemn  silence  there. 


NATURE'S  VOICES. 

TIFERE  are  voices  in  the  moonlight, 
Voices  in  the  silent  stars, 

Voices  in  the  mighty  ocean, 
Rolling  oVr  its  gems  and  spars. 


ANGELIC  MINISTRIES.  19 

Voices  all  around  our  pathway, — 
In  the  sunlight,  in  the  shade ; 

On  the  high  and  rock-crown'd  mountain, 
In  the  stillness  of  the  glade. 

Voices  from  the  stately  forest, 

And  the  lovely  moss-cress  bright ; 

From  the  broad  and  mighty  rivers, 
And  the  streamlet  murm'ring  light. 

Voices,  rising  from  the  flow'ret 
Dipt  in  bright  and  pearly  dew, 

From  the  floating  clouds  of  crimson, 
And  the  skies  of  azure  hue. 

Happy,  happy  they  that  listen 

To  these  teaching  tones  of  love  ! 
For  their  strange  and  gentle  whisp'rings 
Would  direct  our  hearts  above ! 


ANGELIC  MINISTRIES. 

I  HAVE  heard  around  my  pillow, 

When  sleep's  curtain  gently  fell, 
Strains  of  music  sweetly  rising, 

Though  each  earthly  voice  was  still. 
Well  I  knew  the  angelic  numbers, 

Well  I  knew  that  bright- wing'd  band — 
For  the  soul,  that  never  slumbers, 

Traced  them  to  the  spirit-land. 


20  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

0  !  they  raised  a  song  triumphant, 

While  encompassing  my  bed  ; 
And  they  spread  their  starry  pinions 

Over  my  defenceless  head ! 
Tell  me  not  'twas  but  the  vision 

Of  a  poor  disordered  brain  ; 
Yonder,  in  a  sphere  elysian, 

I  shall  list  those  notes  again. 

1844. 

THE  ANGEL  VISITANT. 
SHE  came  when  darkness  o'er  the  earth  was 

reigning, 

And  Silence  spread  her  gloomy  pall  around — 

Came,  when  my  lonely  lamp  was  slowly  waning, 

And  I  had  dropp'd  my  pen  in  thought  profound. 

She  sat  beside  me  !     Busy  recollection 

Strove  to  recall  the  semblance  of  that  brow : 

It  was  the  friend  upon  whom  fond  Affection 
Had  shower'd  her  burning  tears  long  years  ago. 

I  did  not  see  her  with  the  natural  vision ; 

But  'twas  the  soul's  deep  eye  beheld  her  here : 
She  seem'd  all  radiant  from  the  clime  elysian, 

Where  bliss  is  never  follow'd  by  a  tear. 

Upon  that  brow  was  something  far  more  holy 
Than  it  was  wont  to  wear  while  here  on  earth ; 

And  she  had  now  exchanged  her  garb  so  lowly 
For  one  befitting  her  exalted  birth. 


THE   ANGEL  VISITANT.  21 

How  well  I  recollected  the  bright  gleaming 
Of  ringlets  I  had  seen  in  beauty  wave ! 

Well  I  remember'd,  too,  the  dark  eyes  beaming, 
Which  lost  their  lustre  in  an  early  grave. 

But  she  had  drank  of  that  pure  stream  supernal. 
Which  rises  in  a  land  more  glorious,  fair, 

And  gazed  upon  the  throne  of  the  Eternal, 
Until  she  seem'd  no  more  the  child  of  care. 

She  seem'd  not  as  the  one  whose  step  of  gladness 
Was  poised  awhile  on  this  dark  earth  of  ours ; 

She  seem'd  not  as  the  one  who  shared  my  sadness, 
And  wander'd  with  me  mid  the  vernal  flowers ; 

Not  as  the  one  who  traced  with  me  the  wending 
Of  that  bright  stream  which  sparkles  o'er  the 
green, 

Or  watch'd  with  me  the  solemn  moon  ascending 
To  reign  amid  the  stars,  unrivall'd  queen ; 

Not  as  the  one  who,  at  the  hour  of  vespers, 
Knelt  at  my  side,  with  eyelids  deeply  seal'd, 

To  list  with  me  the  low  and  mystic  whispers 
Of  the  Unseen,  who  then  his  love  reveal'd. 

And  yet  I  knew  her  by  that  sacred  token 
Of  love  undying  in  her  soul-lit  eyes, 

Which  told  me  early  ties  were  still  unbroken, 
And  quite  cemented  only  in  the  skies. 


SONGS    FROM   THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

To  my  shut  senses  earthly  care  soon  stealing 
Seem'd  in  harsh  terms  to  chide  my  long  delay ; 

A  task  forgotten  to  my  thought  revealing — 
My  angel  visitant  had  fled  away. 

1846. 

THE  ABSENT  ONE. 

I  MISS'D  her  in  the  choir, 
Where  happy  faces  brightly  shone 
As  if  their  spirits  had  caught  fire 

From  an  archangel's  tone. 

Ah !  one  was  missing  there, — 
One  with  a  meek,  veil'd  eye,  and  brow 
Which,  in  its  solemn  radiance  fair, 

Was  like  the  shaded  snow : 

Whose  cheek,  transparent,  pale, 
Reminded  you  of  twilight's  sky ; 
The  flashing  hues  would  come  and  fail 

So  strange  and  rapidly. 

Where  was  that  gentle  one  ? 
Where  the  tall  form  so  lightly  frail, 
Which,  like  a  tender  flower  half -blown, 

Shrank  from  the  gentlest  gale  ? 

Tell  me,  thou  angel  choir ! 
Giving  to  God  the  glory  due, 
Praising  the  everlasting  Sire ; 

Tell  me,  Is  she  with  you  ? 


FALLING   LEAVES.  23 


FALLING  LEAVES. 

MUSING,  I  stand  where  late  I  stood 

When  summer's  sun  was  high, 
And  the  green  foliage  of  the  wood 

Thrill'd  to  the  zephyrs'  sigh. 
A  few  short  weeks  have  pass'd  away, 
And,  0  !  how  changed  the  scene  to-day  ! 

Where  now  are  all  the  blossoms  fair, 

Flowers  of  the  sunny  gleam, 
Which  grew  profusely  everywhere 

Along  the  forest  stream  ? 
Ah !  their  brief  summer-day  is  o'er, 
In  these  wild  dells  they  bloom  no  more ! 

Is  not  our  day  of  life  as  brief  ? 

Do  we  not  pass  as  soon  away  ? 
Beholdest  thou  yon  falling  leaf, 

Traced  with  the  lines  of  dull  decay  ? 
Such  is  our  life — thus  do  we  fade, 
And,  falling,  mingle  with  the  dead. 

How  fast  they  come !  how  thick  they  fall ! 

On  every  breeze  they  hurry  past ! 
Though  some  look  fresh,  behold  them  all 

Hang  trembling  in  October's  blast ! 
Thus  is  life's  tenure  feebly  frail, 
Nor  can  it  bear  death's  piercing  gale. 


24  SO.VGS   FROM  THE   ST.   IA5VRENCB. 

One  at  my  feet  lies  trembling  here, 

Just  fallen  from  yon  leafy  bough  ; 

But,  from  the  many  myriads  there, 

Say,  wouldst  thou  miss  the  lost  one  now  ? 
Thus  we  shall  pass  life's  fitful  scene ; 
And  who  shall  know  that  we  have  been  ? 

May  not  the  mind  its  impress  give 

To  something  that  shall  not  decay? 
May  we  not  bid  some  thought  survive 

Long  after  we  have  pass'd  away  ? 
Yea,  e'en  the  rustling  sound  that  pass'd 
Linger'd  awhile  upon  the  blast. 

The  soul,  with  all  its  lofty  powers, 
Flies  like  the  verdure  of  the  leaf, 
And,  like  the  texture  of  the  flowers, 
Its  garb  is  woven  frail  and  brief ; 
Yet  it  transcends,  in  destiny, 
The  loftiest  star  that  burns  on  high ! 

1840. 

THE  BETTER  LAND. 

OUR  earth  is  bright  when  hope  and  spring 
Their  radiance  o'er  its  bosom  throw : 

The  spirit  of  beauty  on  the  wing 
Amid  its  landscapes  seems  to  glow ! 

But  there 's  a  land  more  purely  bright, 

Which  lies  beyond  our  anxious  sight, — 


THE    BETTER   LAND.  25 

A  beautiful  and  holy  strand, — 
They  call  it  here  the  "  better  land." 

This  world  has  treasures  for  the  mind, 
Which  all  may  grasp  with  eager  joy, — 

Pleasures  exalted  and  refined, 
Tho'  not  exempt  from  all  alloy ; 

But  there 's  a  world  of  cloudless  bliss, 

Of  deeper,  holier  happiness, 

And  tho'  I  here  with  rapture  stand, 

I  long  to  seek  that  "better  land." 

The  earth  hath  many  sorrows  too, — 
Afflictions  deep  and  trials  strange, 

Tempests  of  grief  and  clouds  of  woe, 
Are  hovering  o'er  this  world  of  change : 

But  there  's  a  clime  unknown  to  care, 

Forever  cloudless,  calm,  and  fair ; 

Time's  gloomy  shadows  never  blend 

Their  darkness  in  that  "better  land." 

Here  we  have  friends, — but  soon  they  pass, 
Helpless  and  silent,  to  the  grave, 

Like  autumn  leaves  before  the  blast, 
Like  blossoms  thrown  upon  the  wave : 

But  there 's  a  clime  where  spirits  live, 

Where  stricken  hearts  no  longer  grieve— 

0,  what  a  pure  and  tearless  band 

Await  us  in  that  «  better  land !" 


U6  bOXGS   FROM   11  IE   rtl.    LAWRENCE. 

TO  A  FRIEND. 

WHEN  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

When  the  stars  at  evening  shine 
With  a  lustre  all  divine ; 
When  the  silvery  moonlight  glows 
Round  thy  pillow  of  repose, — 
Then  let  it  be. 

When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

When  the  dawn  of  morning  light 
Pierces  through  the  shades  of  night, 
And  the  rays  of  joy  and  love 
Fall  commingling  from  above, — 
Then  let  it  be. 

When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

At  the  sacred  hour  of  prayer, 
When  is  hush'd  each  earthly  care, 
When  thou  claimest  at  the  throne 
Blessings  for  each  absent  one, — 
Then  let  it  be. 

When  wilt  thou  think  of  me  ? 

When  thou  thinkest  of  a  home, 
Far  above  yon  starry  dome, 
Where  these  fond  farewells  are  o'er, 
And  the  just  shall  part  no  more, — 
Thou  1<«1  it  be. 

1841. 


I  COR.   II,  9.  27 

I  CORINTHIANS  II,  9. 

Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for 
them  that  love  him. 

HAST  thou  an  eye  that  loves  to  trace  the  charm 
That  lingers  here  in  nature's  fields  of  light  ? 

Say,  hast  thou  gazed  at  the  mild  sunset  calm, 
Until  thy  heart  has  melted  at  the  sight  ? 

Lov'st  thou  to  watch,  at  twilight's  sacred  hour, 
The  gorgeous  cloud  of  many  a  tinted  fold  ? 

And  has  the  moon-lit  eve  a  sacred  power 
To  waken  the  sublime  within  thy  soul  ? 

Lies  there  a  charm  on  the  blue  wave  by  night, 
Reflecting  from  its  brow  the  stars  above  ? 

And  read'st  thou  with  a  deep,  untold  delight, 
In  nature's  loveliness,  a  God  of  love  ? 

Hast  thou  an  ear  to  music  well  attuned, 
That  catches  each  harmonious  sound  below, 

And,  moving  those  deep  chords  so  finely  strung, 
Bids  the  rich  strains  of  wildest  music  flow  ? 

Lov'st  thou  the  sounds  which  waken  in  the  grove, 
Or  by  the  streamlet  at  the  hush  of  eve, 

When  unseen  hands  o'er  nature's  harp-strings 

move, 
And  garments  for  the  soul  of  music  weave  ? 


'28  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Or  has  thy  fancy,  with  enlivening  rays, 

Pictured  a  world  more  lovely  than  our  own  ? 

And  dost  thou  on  the  beauteous  vision  gaze 
Until  thou  almost  murmurest  to  be  gone  ? 

Ne'er  has  thine  eye  beheld  aught  half  so  fair 
As  those  bright  fields  upon  that  peaceful  strand ; 

Nor  has  thine  ear  heard  aught  which  can  compare 
With  the  rich  anthems  of  that  better  land ! 

Nor  has  thy  fancy  e'er  conceived  the  bliss 
Which,  like  a  flood  of  light,  is  resting  there ; 

Thou  canst  not  find  in  such  a  world  as  this 
Aught  like  the  glory  that  those  landscapes 
wear. 

And  askest  thou,  "  Is  that  bright  world  for  me  ? 

Shall  I  behold  what  EYE  hath  never  seen  ? 
Shall  I  drink  in  that  gushing  melody 

Which  thus  unheard  by  mortal  ear  hath  been  ?" 

Ah !  fathom  the  deep  fountain  of  thy  soul ! 

Do  the  bright  gems  of  faith  lie  shining  deep  ? 
Do  the  rough  waves  of  passion  cease  to  roll, 

And  hi  a  pleasing  silence  smoothly  sleep  ? 

And  is  the  messenger  of  peace — the  Dove — 
Now  brooding  o'er  its  still  and  bright  expanse, 

With  the  clear  eye  of  confidence  and  love 
Directing  far  from  earth  its  heavenward  glance  ? 


REPLY  TO  A  DYING  BROTHER.        29 

'Tis  well ! — then  thou  shalt  reach  that  blissful 
clime ; 

Then  thou  shalt  gaze  upon  that  glorious  river, 
And  join  the  ransom'd  in  a  strain  sublime, 

Drinking  the  sweetness  of  its  bliss  forever. 


EEPLY  TO  A  DYING  BROTHER. 

To  the  writer  he  said,  "Come  with  me  until  I  meet  my 
Saviour." 

BROTHER,  I  Ve  walk'd  with  thee 
Thro'  the  green  path  of  childhood ;  but,  alas ! 
Thou  'st  reach'd  the  borders  of  a  mystic  sea, 

Thy  sister  cannot  pass. 

The  one  so  fondly  dear — 
Whose  step  thou  hast  not  miss'd  in  all  thy  way, 
Who  shared  thy  transport  and  thy  every  tear 

In  youth  and  infancy — 

Must  now  remain  behind. 
For  thou  art  launching  upon  Jordan's  wave  ; 
Divested  of  its  garb,  the  immortal  mind 

Now  triumphs  o'er  the  grave. 

But  I  am  still  of  earth ; 
Mortality  has  flung  its  garb  round  me, 
And  yet  my  spirit  feels  her  nobler  birth, 

Her  loftier  destiny, 


30          BONOS  j-Tvo.M  Tin:  .vr.  LAWRENCE. 

And  fain  would  soar  away 
With  thee,  blest  one,  to  thy  sweet  home  of  bliss — 

0  how  shall  I,  the  lonely-hearted,  stay 

In  such  a  world  as  this  ! 

• 

When  thou  hast  left  my  side, 
Thou  guide  and  counsellor  of  ray  early  days — 
Ah,  thro'  the  path  before  me,  cheerless,  wide, 

Thro'  tears  of  grief  I  gaze ! 

And  dost  thou  linger  now 
Even  in  the  vale  of  death,  with  tender  eye 
Directed  to  my  own,  and  clammy  brow, 

Asking  beseechingly, 

Why  I  may  not  attend 
Thy  footsteps  thro'  the  dark  and  shadowy  vale  ? 

1  would  go  with  thee,  0  my  dearest  friend, 

My  spirit  would  not  fail ; 

But  I  must  tarry  here ; 
Thy  wing  is  chainless — pass,  triumphant  one ! 
Thy  course  is  upward  to  a  holier  sphere ; 

Mine  lies  beneath  the  sun. 

Nay,  ask  me  not  again, 

With  that  sweet,  dying  look,  and  voice  so  low ; 
Thy  strange  request,  my  brother,  gives  me  pain — • 

Thou  know'st  T  cannot  go ! 


THE   OLD   CHAPEL.  31 

But  0,  thou  dying  one ! 
Thou  hast  a  safer  Guard,  a  surer  Guide — 
For  bright- wing'd  angels  from  the  Saviour's  throne 

E'en  now  are  at  thy  side. 

Adieu !  a  fond  adieu ! 

And  when,  like  thee,  I  close  my  beamless  eye, 
O  then,  sweet  brother,  linger  in  my  view, 

And  teach  me  how  to  die ! 

1843. 

THE  OLD  CHAPEL. 
I  STOOD  within  the  hallow'd  dome 

Where  I  had  worshipp'd  from  a  child ; 
The  faces  of  my  early  home 

Were  round  me  with  their  wonted  smile. 

Oft  had  I  wish'd  to  tread  again 

Those  sacred  aisles  which  erst  I  trod, 

Again  my  holiest  prayers  to  blend 
In  that  dear  temple  of  my  God. 

The  boon  was  given, — and  now  I  felt 
The  glowings  of  those  by-gone  years, 

When  at  that  altar  I  had  knelt, 
And  pour'd  my  supplicating  tears. 

I  thought  of  friends  that  worshipp'd  there, 
Whose  places  now  were  vacant  seen ; 

The  young,  the  beautiful,  the  fair — 
How  well-remember'd  was  their  mien  I 


32  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

The  aged,  too,  with  locks  of  snow, 

Were  round  me  with  their  wintry  smile ; 

The  middle-aged,  I  saw  them  now — 
The  harshly  stern,  the  sweetly  mild. 

I  saw  them,  as  I  saw  them  there 
Receive  the  high  baptismal  vows — 

I  saw  them  as  upon  the  bier, 

With  death-stern  silence  on  their  brows. 

O,  thronging  memories  !  how  ye  come 
To  make  the  heart  and  eyes  o'erflow : 

When  shall  we  reach  that  better  home 

Where  meeting  brings  not  thoughts  of  woe  ? 


CHARITY. 

Charity  heareth  all  things,  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all 
things,  endureth  all  things.— 1  COP.,  xiii,  7. 

BEARETH  with  the  oppressor, 

Beareth  with  the  vain, 
Beareth  with  the  aggressor, 
Beareth,  too,  with  pain — 
Beareth  with  the  stubborn  will, 
Beareth  with  the  guilty  still. 

Believeth  all  that 's  written, 
Believeth,  doubteth  not ; 

Believeth  that  true  wisdom 
Appointeth  here  thy  lot : 


DIVINE  CHASTENING   ILLUSTRATED.  83 

Believeth  well  of  erring  man, 
Believeth  all  that  virtue  can. 

Hopeth,  hopeth  ever 

With  a  strength  divine, 
A  purpose  naught  can  sever 
From  the  deathless  mind : 
Hopeth  ever,  hopeth  on, 
Till  the  sun  of  life  goes  down. 

Endureth  all  things,  too, 
With  a  patient  trust ; 
Endureth  every  blow — 

Bows  meekly  to  the  worst ; 
Turns  away  the  smitten  cheek 
But  to  turn  the  other  back. 


DIVINE  CHASTENING  ILLUSTRATED. 

'TWAS  mid-day,  and  the  summer's  sun  was  high ; 

Nature  seem'd   sick'ning   'neath  its  burning 

glare ; 
No  shadowing  clouds  were  hanging  in  the  sky, 

No  cooling  breath  was  in  the  sultry  air. 
I  saw  around  me  no  refreshing  shade, 
No  shadowy  rocks  to  screen  my  naked  head  ; 
No  cooling  breezes  fann'd  my  throbbing  brow,— 
Languid,  I  droop'd  beneath  that  fervid  glow. 
3 


34  SONGS    FIJOM    "I  Hf.    8T.    I.AWKKNCi:. 

At  once  a  beauteous  cloud  sail'd  through  the  sky ; 

Upward,  far  upward,  towards  the  sun  it  flew, 
And  pausing  there,  spread  its  white  wings  on  high, 

Veiling  that  noon-day  brightness  from  my  view. 
I  look'd  above,  and  wept,  I  knew  not  why, 
Then,  kneeling,  raised  to  heaven  my  tearful  eye, 
And  a  sweet  thought,  that  words  may  ne'er 

express, 
Awoke  a  sacred  transport  in  my  breast. 

I  felt,  although  a  helpless  child  of  dust, 

I  had  a  Friend — a  glorious  Friend — on  high  ; 
One  who  was  worthy  of  my  constant  trust. 
Whose  arm  was  ruling  heaven,  and  earth,  and 

sky. 

0  how  secure ! — that  high  and  Holy  One, 
Whose  hand  could  curtain  the.  meridian  sun, 
Was  near  my  path,  each  footstep  to  defend, — 
Near  as  my  Guide,  my  Counsellor,  and  Friend. 

And  should  I  murmur  when  a  cloud  of  gloom 

Throws  a  dark  shadow  o'er  my  youthful  sky  ? 
Nay,  nay  !  let  trials  and  afflictions  come — 
They  are  directed  by  a  Friend  on  high. 
He  saw,  perchance,  a  prosperous  sun  would  shine 
Too  bright  and  clear  upon  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  therefore  veil'd  it,  like  the  natural  sky, 
Lest  I  should  sicken,  faint,  and  droop,  and  die. 


THE  TWO  POETS.  35 

THE  TWO  POETS. 

UPON  a  violet  bank  a  happy  child 

Once  laid  him  down  at  dewy  eve,  and  slept ; 
It  was  a  place  of  beauty,  fresh  and  wild, 

Where  fragrant  thyme  about  his  forehead  crept. 

He  dream'd :  an  angel  with  a  wing  of  fire 
Sped  thro'  the  azure  firmament  above, 

Then  at  his  side  attuned  and  placed  a  lyre, 
Saying  in  tones  of  tenderness  and  love, — 

"  Child  of  the  earth,  thy  hand  may  time  the  string, 
And  wake  its  numbers  for  a  listening  world ; 

Choose  now  with  pleasure's  votaries  to  sing, 
Or  where  the  Saviour's  banner  is  unfurl'd." 

He  look'd — a  lowly  band  had  gather'd  there, 
Far  to  the  right  along  a  narrow  way ; 

He  saw  his  place  among  them  would  be  care, 
And  weary  toil,  and  cheerless  poverty. 

And  next  he  saw,  far  to  the  left,  a  crowd 
Of  pleasure-seeking  souls,  in  proud  array, 

Ready  to  hail  with  acclamations  loud 

Each  glowing  number  of  the  minstrel's  lay. 

Again  the  angel  spoke, — "  Fair  child,  beware  1 
Upon  this  choice  thy  destiny  depends — 

E'en  all  the  woes  of  infinite  despair, 

Or  the  transcendent  bliss  that  never  ends !" 


36  SONGS   FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

The  dreamer  woke — his  visitant  was  gone ; 

But  in  his  hand  he  found  the  ringing  lyre, 
Amid  whose  chords  his  fingers  wander'd  on, 

Until  his  soul  was  wrapt  with  living  fire. 

\nd  then  he  sought  the  crowd  at  Pleasure's  gates, 
And  pour'd  sweet  numbers  from  his  wild  harp 
forth, 

Awoke  the  themes  that  passion's  fire  creates, 
And  sung  till  he  entranced  the  giddy  earth. 

!:Ie  brought  his  heavenly  gift,  debased  and  mean, 
And  laid  it  down  on  an  unhallow'd  shrine, 

With  the  high  soul,  whose  passions  might  have 

been 
Tuned  with  its  chords  to  music  all  divine. 

Ah  !  gifted  child  of  song — who  knoweth  yet 
The  blighting  influence  thou  hast  left  behind ! 

Although  thy  sun  of  life  long  since  has  set, 
That  influence  floats  upon  the  sea  of  mind. 

And  it  can  never  cease  to  exert  its  power, 
Till  the  archangel  from  that  other  clime 

Shall  stand  amid  the  clouds  that  round  us  lower, 
And  in  high  tones  pronounce  the  end  of  time. 

Another  child  was  laid  in  rosy  sleep, 
When  the  same  angel  sought  his  cradle  bed, 

Bringing  a  lyre  of  the  same  wondrous  sweep, 
Gave  the  same  warning,  and  as  quickly  fled. 


THE  TWO  POETS  37 

Then  the  fair  child  awoke  and  touch'd  its  chords, 
Raising  his  mild  eye  to  that  angel's  heaven ! 

Imploring  thence  the  favour  of  his  God, 
Th'  inspiring  Spirit  to  his  heart  was  given. 

He  saw  the  path  of  fame, — but  turn'd  aside 
Where  the  meek  followers  of  the  Lamb  appear, 

And  from  his  sweet  harp  pour'd  a  flowing  tide 
Of  melody,  their  sacred  toils  to  cheer. 

He  sung  of  Calvary — immersed  that  lyre 

In  the  red  stream  which  thenceforth  takes  its 
way; 

And  now  his  soul  caught  all  the  secret  fire 
Which  glows  upon  a  seraph's  melting  lay. 

His  was  a  station  low  and  humble  here, 

No  meed  was  granted  by  the  sons  of  earth ; 

None,  save  the  tribute  sweet  of  Virtue's  tear, 
And  that  which  men  must  yield  to  honest  worth. 

He  pass'd  away — but  still  the  strains  he  sung 
Invest  religion  with  a  hallow'd  light ; 

And  many  a  soul  shall  join  the  ransom'd  throng, 
Allured  and  won  by  him  from  shades  of  night. 

Who  would  not  live,  thou  blessed  bard,  like  thee, 
To  shed  a  fragrance  on  the  air  of  time  ? 

And  pour  a  gush  of  sacred  melody 

Which  through  eternity  shall  swell  sublime  ? 


88  SONGS   FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

ELLEN. 

HER'S  was  a  fearful  death — I  saw  her  die — 
Caught  her  last  glance — heard  her  expiring  sigh. 
No  Saviour  smiled  upon  her  dying  bed — 
No  hope  was  mingled  with  the  tears  we  shed ! 
That  awful  night ! — Methinks  I  see  her  now — 
Cold  clammy  sweats  were  glistening  on  her  brow ; 
Wild  with  delirium  long  she  struggled  there, 
Then  sunk  exhausted  as  in  deep  despair. 

Reason  return'd — she  knew  that  she  must  die — 
No  gleam  of  hope  lit  up  her  languid  eye ; 
She  whisper'd,  "  0,  thou  slighted  Lamb  of  God, 
I  've  grieved  thy  Spirit,  trampled  on  thy  blood : 
Canst  thou  forgive  ?"  she  wildly  cried,  and  then 
A  strange  convulsion  rack'd  her  frame  again  ; 
Her  quivering  lips  were  seal'd  in  death — the 

prayer, 
Half  finished,  trembled  and  was  silenced  there. 

Oft  have  I  stood,  amidst  a  weeping  band, 
Around  the  death-bed  of  some  cherish'd  friend ; 
My  stricken  heart  has  bled  at  every  pore, 
And  I  have  wept  till  I  could  weep  no  more ; 
But  never  have  I  felt  as  when  I  heard, 
From  Ellen's  lips,  the  latest  hopeless  word — 
Ne'er  have  I  sicken'd  with  such  faint  despair, 
As  when  I  listen'd  to  her  dying  prayer. 

1948. 


EXCELLENCY    OF   CHRIST.  39 

EXCELLENCY  OF  CHRIST. 

Jesus  is  eyes  to  the  blind,  feet  to  the  lame,  ears  to  the  deaf, 
clothing  to  the  naked,  food  to  the  hungry,  medicine  to 
the  sick,  and  life  to  the  dying. — BISHOP  MORRIS. 

ART  thou  a  wanderer  in  thick  .darkness  here, 
With  vision  clouded  by  the  mists  of  sin  ? 

Does  earth  a  wilderness  of  gloom  appear, 
Where  rays  of  joy  and  hope  are  never  seen  ? 

Corne  to  that  Lord  who  proffers  sight  to  thee, 

The  scales  shall  leave  thine  eyes,  and  thou  shalt 
see; 

Shalt  see  thy  path  traced  out  by  heavenly  love, 

And  see  the  city  of  thy  rest  above. 

Hast  thou  in  worldly  wisdom  placed  thy  trust, 
Until  thy  weary,  mis-led  feet,  must  fail  ? 

'Till  thou  hast  deem'd  all  earthly  succour  lost, 
Or  proved  each  source  of  help  of  no  avail  ? 

Come  to  the  One  who  makes  the  lame  rejoice; 

Listen  with  gladness  to  the  Saviour's  voice ; 

Obey  his  precepts — strength  shall  then  be  given 

To   aid   thy   footsteps   toward   the    Christian's 
heaven. 

And  is  thy  sense  closed  to  the  sounds  of  gladness  ? 

Canst  thou  not  list  the  gospel  promise  sweet  ? 
To  thee  is  nature  seal'd  in  silent  sadness, 

Making  thy  pleasures  dull  and  incomplete  ? 


40  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.    LAWRKN'CE. 

0  come  to  Him  who  makes  the  deaf  to  hear, 
And  strains  of  bliss  thy  lowly  heart  shall  cheer ; 
Sweet  sounds  shall  stiike  thee,  all  replete  with  love, 
Breathing  like  raptures  of  the  blest  above. 

And  art  thou  naked  on  this  cold,  bleak  strand  ? 

Or  clad  in  garb  of  misery  and  woe  ? 
A  wretched  wanderer  thro*  a  dreary  land, 

Where  tempests  rise,  and  piercing  north  winds 

blow? 

Come  take  the  robe  our  Saviour  bought  for  thee, 
From  every  stain  by  his  own  blood  set  free — 
'Twill  shield  thee  from  the  blasts  of  sin  and  care, 
And  for  the  marriage-feast  thy  .soul  prepare. 

Or  dost  thou  hunger  for  substantial  food, 

Pining  for  what  the  world  cannot  supply, 
Till,  sick  with  faintness,  thou  hast  trembling  stood, 

And  fear'd  to  live,  yet  dreaded  more  to  die  ? 
O  take  the  bread  of  life — 'tis  freely  given, 
'Tis  proffer'd  to  thee.  by  the  Lord  of  heaven ! 
New  strength  and  vigour  will  that  bread  impart, 
And  raise  at  once  thy  poor,  desponding  heart. 

Thou  dying  one,  whose  pulse  is  throbbing  weak, 
Whose  hold  on  life  seems  to  be  loosening  now ; 

Is  fear  impress'd  upon  thy  sunken  cheek, 

While  death's  cold  drops  are  standing  on  thy 
brow? 


STRUGGLE   ON.  41 

Life,  even  life  to  thee,  I  now  proclaim — 
Eternal  life  in  Jesus'  wondrous  name — 
0  take  the  boon !  thy  days  of  pain  are  o'er, 
Thy  heaven  begun — thou  liv'st  forevermore ! 

1848. 

STRUGGLE  ON. 

STRUGGLE  on,  tho'  fierce  the  tempest, 

Tho'  the  whirlwinds  round  thee  roar, 
Tho'  the  towering  billows,  rising, 

Fiercely  dash  against  the  shore ; 
Tho'  thy  bark,  its  course  forgetting, 

Cruel  rocks  may  dash  upon, — 
Let  the  stout  heart,  unrelenting, 

'Mid  the  darkness,  struggle  on. 

Well  I  know  how  fierce  thy  conflict 

With  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell ; 
And  the  dangers  of  thy  pathway, 

Ah !  I  know,  I  know  them  well — 
Yet  permit  me,  while  thou  'rt  mourning 

Every  earthly  vision  flown, — 
0,  permit  me  still  to  whisper, 

'Mid  the  darkness,  struggle  on  ! 

Fare  thee  well !  when  I  am  wandering 

In  another  track  of  life, 
Weary  of  the  ceaseless  conflict, 

Burden'd  with  the  painful  strife ; 


42      8OXGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

When  the  waves  across  my  pathway 
Fiercely  rush  and  roar  anon, 

Let  me  hear,  amid  the  tempest, 
That  my  friend  is  straggling  on. 


REV.  L.  D.  GIBBS. 

"  Soldier  of  Christ,  well  done ! 
Rest  from  thy  loved  employ ; 
The  battle 's  fought,  the  victory  won, 
Enter  thy  Master's  joy."— MONTGOMEBT. 

REST,  rest,  thou  champion  of  the  cross,  in  peace, 

Bedew'd  by  many  a  tear ; 
Thy  passport  has  been  sign'd — thy  quick  release 

From  sublunary  care. 

0 !  while  thou  strik'st  the  golden  lyre  above, 

Round  the  eternal  throne, 
We  bring  a  tribute,  of  sad  thoughts  inwove, 

To  the  departed  one. 

And  while  thou  stand'st  on  the  verge  of  heaven, 

Tracing  thy  shining  track, 
We,  we  are  thinking  of  the  fond  ties  riven, 

And  fain  would  call  thee  back. 

O  selfish  love !  that  would  recall  the  blest 

To  such  a  world  as  ours ; 
Where  sighs  are  mingling-  with  the  fitful  blast, 

And  many  a  storm-cloud  lowers. 


REV.   L.   D.    GIBBS.  43 

0,  let  them  rest !  yet  memoiy  loves  to  turn 

The  page  of  other  years ; 
Affection  traces  there  fond  "  thoughts  that  burn," 

And  showers  them  o'er  with  tears ! 

That  sainted  one — methinks  I  see  him  now, 

That  messenger  of  peace, 
Who  walk'd  by  faith  these  stormy  waves  of  woe, 

Bidding  their  tumults  cease. 

How  often  have  we  met  in  days  gone  by, 

In  joy  and  sorrow  too ! 
Met  in  the  sunshine  of  a  prosperous  sky, 

And  'neath  the  clouds  of  woe ! 

In  health  and  sickness  his  consoling  words 
Have  often  cheer'd  this  heart, 

And  at  the  loved  one's  couch  of  pain  were  heard, 
Bidding  each  doubt  depart. 

And,  0 !  when  death,  unpitying  death,  had  claim'd 

Our  brightest  and  our  best, 
'Twas  then,  'twas  then  that  consolation  came,— 

With  him  a  welcome  guest. 

Once,  and  again,  as  we  approach'd  the  grave. 

Bearing  the  loved  away, 
He  pointed  calmly  over  Jordan's  wave 

To  an  eternal  day. 


44      SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Those  words  of  consolation,  treasured  long 

Within  the  heart's  deep  cell, 
Now  live  to  point  us  to  that  ransom'd  throng 

Where  thou,  blest  one,  dost  dwell. 

Pastor  beloved  of  other  days,  adieu ! 

We  '11  meet  on  that  bright  shore 
Where  the  blest  streams  of  consolation  flow 

Onward,  forevermore. 

1847. 

TO  THE  BIBLE. 

Guide  of  the  wanderer  !  I  have  been  straying, — - 

Lost  in  life's  wilderness,  long  I  have  roam'd ; 
Gladly  I  turn,  and,  thy  counsels  obeying, 

Seek  for  thy  guidance  to  pilot  me  home ; 
No  more  would  my  heart,  in  its  frailty  forgetting 

The  source  of  its  comforts,  be  turning  aside, — 
But,  0 !  midst  the  ills  that  are  always  besetting 

The  pathway  of  life,  I  would  seek  the  sure  guide. 

Light  of  the  shipwrecked!    On  life's  stormy  ocean 

I  have  been  cast,  without  compass  or  chart, 
And,  O !  midst  the  tempests  and  billows'  commo 
tion, 

I  press  thy  fair  page  to  my  terror-struck  heart ; 
I  see  there 's  a  light,  that  is  sacredly  shining 

Along  these  dark  waters,  shed  ever  from  thec, 
And,  0  !  when  the  sun  of  my  life  is  declining, 

The  light  of  thy  precepts  my  day-star  shall  be 


THE  DEWY  FLOWER.  45 

Hope  of  the  comfortless  !     I  was  despairing 

Till  thy  sweet  solace-beam  over  me  stole  ; 
Till  I  gazed  on  its  radiance  thro'  darkness  ap 
pearing, 

And  felt  thy  sure  promise  inspiring  my  soul. 
Now  I  will  lean  on  this  promise  when  weary, 

And  seek  the  support  of  thy  life-giving  word : 
0,  when  my  pathway  grows  cheerless  and  dreary, 

I  will  look  for  the  solace  thy  pages  afford. 

1S48. 

THE  DEW  FLOWER. 

"  0  HOW  wet  are  its  leaves !"  she  said, 
As  she  raised  the  beautiful  flower  to  my  view — 
'Twas  completely  drench'd  with  the  early  dew, 

And  heavily  hung  down  its  head. 

"I  '11  dry  its  soft  leaves,"  said  the  child, 
As  she  placed  it  beside  the  hearth  glowing  bright ; 
With  petals  reflecting  the  warm,  rosy  light, 

A  moment  it  blush'd  and  it  smiled. 

Then  it  shrank  from  the  scorching  blaze 
With  a  tremour  at  heart — the  life-pulse  was  gone ; 
In  a  moment  its  beauty  and  fragrance  had  flown, — 

Little  Helen  look'd  on  it  amazed. 

Alas !  its  short  glory  had  fled : 
That  beautiful  blossom,  which  open'd  at  dawn 
With  its  robe  of  freshness  and  loveliness  on, 

Lay  wither'd,  and  faded,  and  dead. 


46  SONGS   FROM  THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

O !  how  like  to  that  simple  child 
Are  we,  in  pursuit  of  the  pleasures  of  earth  ! 
We  grasp  what  we  deem  of  intrinsic  worth, 
And  place  in  the  warmth  of  the  heart's  glowing 
hearth, 

'Till  blighted,  and  wither'd,  and  spoil'd. 


CHILDREN  AT  PLAY. 

IN  groups  they  gather  round, — 
And  childhood's  merry  laugh  is  ringing  free, 
Making  the  skies  and  shady  woods  resound 

With  fitful  bursts  of  glee. 

I  have  been  thinking  long 
Of  various  paths  mark'd  out  through  future  life, 
Through  which  the  footsteps  of  that  restless 
throng 

Will  move  in  doubt  and  strife. 

Ah,  some  will  early  die ! 
Yes,  many  a  beaming  eye,  and  polish'd  brow, 
And  rosy  cheek,  ere  many  years  pass  by, 

Shall  moulder  cold  and  low  ! 

I  see  the  funeral  bier — 

The  grave  before  them  in  the  path  they  tread, 
And  many  a  sigh,  and  many  a  scalding  tear, 

Around  their  pillow  shed. 


EVENING   SHADOWS.  47 

And  some  will  still  live  on, 
fill  their  existence  shall  a  burden  prove ; 
Till  hopes  and  fiiends  have  perish'd,  one  by  one, 

And  they  have  naught  to  love. 

Ah !  who  shall  count  the  tears, 
The  weary  days  and  nights  of  restless  strife  ? 
And  who  may  know  the  yearning  hopes  and  fears 

That  throng  their  path  of  life  ? 

But  one  thing  we  may  know ; 
They  're  forming  characters  not  yet  complete, 
And  we  may  help  to  mould  them  here  below 

For  an  immortal  state. 

1846. 

EVENING  SHADOWS. 

EVENING  shadows  softly  steal 

Through  the  lattice  now, 
And  a  sadness,  dark  and  still, 

Falls  upon  my  brow. 

Evening  shadows — >see,  they  come 

With  a  solemn  tread, 
Sable  mourners  by  the  tomb 

Of  the  daylight  fled. 

Evening  shadows — 0,  how  deep 

They  are  gathering  now  ! 
They  shall  fold  their  wings  in  sleep 
Darkly  o'er  my  brow. 


48  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Evening  shadows — ye  shall  fly 
When  the  morn  shall  come ; 

Daylight  in  the  orient  sky 
Shall  disperse  your  gloom. 

1847. 

IN  MEMORY  OF  DAVID  BLISH. 

The  propeller  Phoenix  was  burned  on  the  21st  of  November, 
within  a  short  distance  of  Sheboygan.  Mr.  Blish  was 
among  the  sufferers.  When  some  of  the  passengers  left 
for  the  shore  in  a  small  boat,  he  assisted  in  putting  the 
captain  on  board,  and  himself  voluntarily  remained  be 
hind. 

0,  'TWAS  a  generous  deed !  too  noble  far 

To  be  exalted  by  a  lay  like  mine : 
His  name  in  light,  undying,  like  a  star, 

In  its  own  lustre  should  forever  shine ! 

He  gave  his  life  his  fellow-man  to  save — 

What  human  heart  could  prompt  an  act  more 
high? 

Rescued  the  wretched  from  the  fire  and  wave, 
And  condescended  in  then-  stead  to  die. 

He  perish'd  on  the  deep, — away,  away 

From  the  fond  hearts  that  knew  and  prized 
him  here ; 

His  memory  oft,  at  dawn  and  close  of  day, 
Shall  prompt  the  rising  sigh,  the  falling  tear  ! 


SPIRITUAL  CALMNESS.  49 

And  oft  they  '11  think,  Could  we  have  linger  *d  near 
His  peaceful  couch  when  he  grew  pale  in  death ; 

Could  we  have  wept  above  his  sable  bier ; 
Could  we  have  listen'd  to  his  parting  breath, — 

Then,  then  the  stroke  had  far  more  lightly  come ! 

But  0,  to  have  him  thus  with  strangers  die, 
By  fire  consumed,  or  wrapt  in  billowy  foam, 

And  know  his  dirge-notes  are  the  wild  wind's 
sigh ! 

But  with  the  mourner's  grief  the  thought  shall 
come 

Of  the  high  deed  that  moved  his  generous  heart ; 
This,  this  shall  whisper  solace  through  the  gloom, 

And  bid  full  many  a  rising  shade  depart. 

0,  'twas  a  generous  deed  !  too  noble  far 

To  be  exalted  by  a  lay  like  mine ! 
His  name  in  light,  undying,  like  a  star, 

In  its  own  lustre  shall  forever  shine ! 

1848. 

SPIRITUAL  CALMNESS. 

Our  spirits  may  dwell  on  the  mountain  summit,  above  the 
pathway  of  storms.— -Extract  from  a, 


HAST  thou  stood  upon  the  summit 
Of  a  mountain  huge  and  high, 

As  the  tempest,  wild  careering, 
In  its  might  went  thundering  by  1 

4 


SONGS   FROM  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Murky  vapours  rolled  beneath  thee, 
And  the  rains  fell  fast  below, 

But  thou  sat'st  above  their  pathway, 
In  the  sunbeam's  richest  glow. 

Thus  the  soul  may  have  its  dwelling 
On  the  mount  of  holiness  ; 

Basking  in  perpetual  sunshine, 
Joying  in  eternal  peace — 

Still  unhurt  by  earthly  sorrow, 
Undisturb'd  by  care  or  woe, 

While  the  spirit  of  the  tempest 
Spends  its  violence  below. 

MY  MOTHER. 

FONDLY  now  my  thoughts  are  turning 
Towards  my  mother's  distant  home. 

While  the  evening  stars  are  burning 
Far  in  von  bright  azure  dome. 


e 


O  how  soft  are  memories  stealing 
O'er  my  melting  heart  to-night ! 

What  a  depth  of  tender  feeling 
Bids  the  tear  bedew  my  sight ! 

Mother !  O,  that  name  I  cherish 
Closely,  closely  in  this  heart ! 

Shall  its  sweetness  ever  perish  ? 
Shall  its  music  e'er  depart  ? 


THE  BLIND  HUSBAND.  51 

True,  my  heart  is  fondly  clinging 

To  another  spirit  now, 
And  the  light  of  love  is  flinging 

All  its  brightness  round  my  brow — 

Yet,  my  mother,  never,  never 
Shall  this  heart  forget  thy  love, 

'Till  the  hand  of  death  shall  sever, 
'Till  I  seek  my  home  above ! 

Mother !  do  fond  memories,  rushing, 

Bid  thee  think  at  eve  of  me  ? 
O,  the  tears  are  wildly  gushing, 

As  thy  child  remembers  thee ! 

THE  BLIND  HUSBAND. 

COME  nearer,  love,  and  sit  thee  down, 
And  lay  thy  gentle  hand  in  mine, 

And  smile,  my  beautiful,  my  own, 
With  that  soft  air,  that  look  benign ! 

I  may  not  gaze  upon  thy  face, 

I  may  not  meet  thy  speaking  eye — 

Yet,  well  I  know  each  gentle  grace 
Doth  on  thy  placid  features  lie. 

I  know  there 's  beauty  in  the  rose, 
By  the  sweet  fragrance  that  it  yields ; 

I  know  thy  lip  with  love-light  glows, 
By  the  sweet  bliss  it  bids  me  feel. 


62  SON7GS  FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

What  though  to  me  is  here  denied 
The  sacred  boon  to  mortals  given ; 

Yet  0,  my  own,  my  lovely  bride, 
I  '11  gaze  upon  thy  face  in  heaven ! 

1848. 

"THOU  SHALT  SEE  GREATER  THINGS." 

JOHN  i,  50. 

"  AND  dost  thou  now  believe,  because  I  tell  thee 

,      I  saw  thee  there  beneath  those  shadowy  trees 

When  thou  didst  think  no  mortal  eye  beheld  thee  ? 

Ah!  thou  shalt  see  far  greater  things  than 

these ; 

If  with  my  little  band  thou  followest  me, 
Wonders  on  wonders  thou  shalt  surely  see. 

"  The  winds,  at  my  command,  thou  shalt  behold 

Sink  into  silence,  and  a  calmness  sleeping 
Upon  the  wave  that  high  with  madness  roll'd, 
While  tempests  wild  upon   its   breast  were 

sweeping. 

Winds,  waves — at  once  are  husli'd  at  my  com 
mand  ; 
Earth,  earth  and  heaven  are  subject  to  my  hand. 

"  Nor  only  shalt  thou  see  the  tempest's  strife 
Sink  into  calmness  when  I  speak  the  word ; 

The  dead — the  dead  shall  waken  into  life, 
The  grave  shall  listen  when  my  voice  is  heard, 


CHEERING  THOUGHTS.  53 

And  heaven  shall  answer, — when  I  pray  aloud 
The  Father's  voice  shall  echo  thro'  the  cloud. 

"  And  thou  shalt  see  me  conqueror  o'er  the  grave, 
Breaking  its  iron  grasp  with  mighty  power, 

Opening  a  way  through  Jordan's  stormy  wave, 
Where  thou  mayest  follow  in  thy  latest  hour ; 

And  when  these  fearful  bands  of  death  are  riven, 

Thou  shalt  behold  me  as  thy  Judge  in  heaven" 

1846. 

CHEERING  THOUGHTS. 

WHEN  the  world  looks  cold  and  drear, 

And  the  spirit,  sad  and  lone, 
In  its  restless  wanderings  here, 

Catches  no  responsive  tone  ; 
When  our  search  is  all  in  vain 

For  some  link  of  sympathy, 
0  !  how  sweet  to  think  e'en  then, 

There  is  one  who  feels  with  me  ! 

When  upon  life's  dreary  waste 

Friendship  proves  itself  untrue ; 
When  a  blighting  change  has  past 

O'er  the  warmest  hearts  we  knew ; 
When  harshness,  with  its  cruel  power, 

Bids  the  heart's  deep  fountain  swell ; 
Sweet  to  know,  in  such  an  hour, 

There  is  one  who  loves  me  well ! 


54  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

When  beside  the  altar  kneeling, 

At  the  sacred  hour  of  prayer ; 
When  a  light  from  heaven  is  stealing, 

Shedding  its  effulgence  there  : 
Sweet,  indeed,  at  such  an  hour, 

When  upon  the  bemlad  knee 
Comes  this  thought,  with  thrilling  power, 

There  is  one  who  prays  for  me  ! 


MRS.  REV.  E.  PEASE. 

How  peaceful  was  her  death-bed  scene — 
How  calm  she  yielded  up  her  breath ! 

With  what  a  quiet  air  serene 

She  turn'd  away,  and  slept  in  death  ! 

Mark'd  ye  the  joy  that  lit  her  eye 
When  near  the  portal  of  the  tomb  ? 

Caught  ye  the  holy  ecstasy 

That  swell'd  her  heart  amid  the  gloom  ? 

Heard  ye  her  deep,  impassioned  tone, 
Which  bade  thee  list  a  music  strain, 

When  bright-wing'd  angels  from  the  throne 
Were  thronging  round  her  bed  of  pain  ? 

She  died — if  we  may  call  it  death 

To  enter  on  eternal  life — 
To  yield  this  short,  this  fleeting  breath, 

And  pass  beyond  earth's  weary  strife. 


RESIGNATION.  55 

She  died — does  not  her  influence  seem, 
Like  yonder  sun-rays  in  the  west, 

Which  long  upon  our  vision  stream 
After  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest  ? 

The  righteous  dead  !     Ah,  unto  us 

Their  sacred  memory  is  given, 
To  raise  the  thoughts  which  cling  to  dust, 

And  fix  our  brighest  hopes  in  heaven ! 


1847. 


RESIGNATION. 

I  'VE  often  wish'd  to  sleep  in  death, 
To  yield  this  fleeting,  transient  breath ; 
Early  to  bid  farewell  to  earth — 
Its  bustling  cares  and  trifling  mirth, 
Its  noisy  grief,  its  tinsel'd  show, 
And  all  these  changing  scenes  below. 

I  've  wish'd  to  sleep  beside  the  bed 
Of  those,  the  loved,  the  early  dead ; 
0,  near  that  spot  I  long  to  rest, 
With  the  cold  earth  upon  my  breast, — 
Where  the  sweet  rose  at  Theron's  head 
Would  scatter  fragrance  round  my  bed. 

My  soul  has  long'd  to  wing  her  way 
To  those  unfading  realms  of  day  ; 
To  join  that  full,  harmonious  choir, 
And  strike  the  seraph's  burning  lyre, 


56  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Where  earthly  shades  may  never  fling 
Their  darkness  round  me  while  I  sing. 

Irksome,  indeed,  has  been  the  chain 
That  binds  me  to  this  world  of  pain  ; 
That  binds  my  pinion'd  spirit  here 
When  it  would  seek  a  holier  sphere — 
Would  leave  this  dull,  this  earthly  clod, 
And  seek  the  temple  of  its  God  1 

But  God  is  here — then  wherefore  roam  ? 
'Twas  he  who  made  this  world  my  home ; 
'Twas  he  who  cast  my  lot  on  earth  ; 
From  him  my  soul  derived  its  birth — 
O,  then,  let  me  submit,  and  know 
That  he  shall  guide  my  steps  below. 

Be  this  my  wish,  be  this  my  care, 
To  fill  my  allotted  station  here 
With  quiet  and  submissive  heart  ; 
To  meekly  strive  to  act  my  part, 
And  wait  till  Jesus  bid  me  come, — 
Wait  till  my  Father  takes  me  home. 

180. 

THERON. 

THE  moon  shines  not  so  tranquil, 
The  stars  are  not  so  bright, 

The  sky  not  half  so  radiant, 
Since  Theron  took  his  fligh* 


THE  FIRST  FLOWER  OF  SPRING.  57 

The  bird  sings  not  so  sweetly, 

The  balmy  zephyr's  breath 
Is  not  so  full  of  music, 

Since  Theron  slept  in  death. 

The  flowers  are  not  so  lovely 

That  open  to  the  day, 
Nor  are  they  half  so  fragrant, 

Since  Theron  pass'd  away. 


THE  FIRST  FLOWER  OF  SPRING. 

SOFTLY  the  morn-beams  through  shadows  are 

stealing, 
Brightening  the  diamonds  that  hang  on  each 

spray ; 

Spring's  sweetest  charms  in  its  radiance  revealing, 
Quickening  the  life-pulse  along  my  way. 

The  robin  doth  greet  me  with  wild,  wild  hymnings, 
Bearing  aloft  his  Creator's  praise ; 

But  what  to  me  are  all  nature's  bright  limnings  ? 
And  what  to  me  are  the  wood-bird's  lays  ? 

One  sweet  attraction  now  spell-bound  holds  me ; 

One  object  claims  my  attention  now — 
Though  Spring  with  its  beautiful  wings  enfold  me, 

My  heart  is  dead  to  aught  else  below. 


58  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

From  the  moss-edged  fountain  it  sweetly  rises, — 
A  flower,  a  flower  like  a  starry  gem ; 

Through   the    dewy   leaves   it  beams  forth  in 

brightness, 
Fair  as  a  princely  diadem ! 

0,  the  first  spring  flower !  how  it  prompts  the 

gushing 

Of  feelings  deep,  pent  up  in  the  heart ; 
Thrills  of  delight  through  its  fibres  are  rushing, 
As  when  the  gale  breathes  through  the  wild- 
wind  harp. 

How    many  the  thoughts   from    darkness  up- 
springing, 

Which  raise  the  heart's  aspirations  to  God, 
As  I  gaze  on  this  flower,  its  sweet  perfume 

flinging 
As  it  meekly  rests  on  the  dewy  sod. 

Thus,  when  some  new-born  hope  is  unfolding, 
Like  this  sweet  flow'ret,  our  pathway  to  cheer ; 

Thus  do  we  gaze,  and,  its  beauties  beholding, 
Turn  from  the  glories  that  linger  elsewhere. 

And  thus  doth  it  raise  the  heart's  adoration, 
Thus  doth  it  lift  the  tried  spirit  above, 

And  prompt  us  to  bring  a  sacred  oblation — 
A  grateful  heart  to  the  altar  of  love. 


THE  LONE   SURVIVER.  59 

THE  LONE  SUKVIVER. 

I  SAW  the  last  tree  of  the  wood,      , 
Where  late  a  thousand  strong- arm'd  stood, 

How  sad  it  look'd  to  me  ! 
The  last  of  all  that  lofty  race, 
AJone  it  held  its  dreary  place — 

Thou  art  like  that  lone  tree. 

I  saw  a  bird  which  linger'd  here 

Till  Autumn's  breath  grew  chill  and  drear, 

And  every  wing  had  flown — 
And  thus  thou  tarriest,  lone  and  sad, 
Though  all  thy  friends  have  long  since  fled — 

Thou  'rt  like  that  lingerer  lone. 

I  saw  the  last  leaf,  trembling,  pale — 
Long  did  the  rough  and  whistling  gale 

That  single  dry  leaf  fan ! 
How  sad  in  loneliness  it  hung, 
Where  late  so  many  closely  clung  ! — 

Thou  'rt  like  that  leaf,  dear  man. 

E'en  now  the  last  pale,  faded  rose, 

Sheds  its  white  petals  to  repose, 
Where  all  the  first  decay — 

Thou  lone  surviver,  see  them  fall, 

The  last,  the  very  last  of  ail- 
Thus  thou  wilt  drop  away  1 


60  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


TEACHER'S  FAREWELL. 

YE  gentle  ones,  farewell ! 

Now  we  must  part ; 
Affection's  fountains  swell 

Deep  in  my  heart. 

Your  study  hours  have  sped — - 
Sweetly  they  pass'd ; 

Each  hour  of  prayer  has  fled — 
This  is  the  last. 

Come,  gather  round  me  now, 

Sing  the  last  hymn, 
And  reverently  bow 

The  knee  to  Him, 

'Neath  whose  protecting  care 

We  live  and  move  ; 
And  seek,  in  earnest  prayer, 

His  constant  love. 

T  ask  not,  as  we  part, 
One  thought  for  me,— 

Though  cherish'd  in  my  heart 
Your  forms  shall  be : 

But  when,  in  after  life, 

Your  weary  lot 
Is  mark'd  with  care  and  strife, 

And  I  'm  forgot ; 


'•FEED  MY  LAMBS."  61 

When  o'er  the  stormy  flood 

Your  bark  is  driven, 
Think  of  your  teacher's  God, 

Your  teacher's  heaven. 

1644. 

"FEED  MY  LAMBS." 

JOHN  xxi,  15. 

SHEPHERDS  of  the  fold  of  God, 
Which  he  purchased  with  his  blood, 
Hark !  a  voice  is  echoing  round — 
Listen,  listen  to  the  sound : 

"  Feed  my  lambs." 

In  a  wilderness  they  stray, 
In  a  wild  and  desert  way ; 
They  are  famishing  for  food — 
Shepherds  of  the  living  God, 

"  Feed  my  lambs." 

Give  them  food  that  shall  endure, 
Give  them  waters  running  pure ; 
Lead  them  into  pastures  green, 
Where  the  living  streams  are  seen — 

"  Feed  my  lambs." 

See,  the  Saviour  stands  before  you ; 
See,  his  arms  of  love  are  o'er  you  ; 


62  SONGS   FROM   TilK   SI'.    LAVTKKNCE. 

Hark  his  voice  in  tones  of  love, 
Which  the  hardest  heart  could  move  ; 
"  Feed  my  lambs." 

Those  who  bear  my  impress  here, 
Lambs  that  roam  this  desert  drear — 
How  they  pant  for  living  streams, 
Where  eternal  sunshine  gleams ! 

"  Feed  my  lambs." 

1847. 

FAREWELL  TO  SPRING. 

SWEET  Spring,  is  thy  departure  near  ? 

And  dost  thou  pass  so  soon  away  ? 
Is  this  thy  farewell  voice  I  hear — 

Thy  last  sweet  note  of  melody  ? 

Is  this  thy  last  sweet  farewell  smile 
That  sheds  its  radiance  round  me  now  ? 

Is  this  thy  last  sweet  balmy  breath 
That  gently  fans  my  anxious  brow  ? 

It  is,  sweet  Spring  !  Farewell — farewell ! 

We  may  no  longer  hold  thee  here — 
E'en  now  I  hear  thy  sounding  knell, 

And  see  thee  on  thy  passing  bier. 

'Twas  ere  this  heart  knew  aught  of  grief, 

Or  wept,  save  for  my  short-lived  flowers-- 
'Twas  then,  sweet  Spring,  I  wept  for  thee, 
'Twas  then  I  mourn'd  thy  fleeting  hours. 


FAREWELL  TO   MY  HARP.  63 

But  now  I  Ve  learn'd  that  happiness 
Is  not  alone  confined  to  Spring ; 

And  that  our  purest,  highest  bliss 
Is  borne  not  on  the  zephyr's  wing. 

The  flowery  seasons  come  and  go, 
The  vernal  zephyrs  pass  away  ; 

But  flowers  of  thought  no  death  can  know, 
And  sweets  of  love  can  ne'er  decay. 

3. 

FAREWELL  TO  MY  HARP. 

CHARTER  of  by-gone  days, 

I  part  with  you  ! 
A  silent  tear-drop  strays, 

Adieu,  adieu ! 

Thou  hast  linger'd  near  me 

Through  happy  hours  ; 
Thy  tones  were  wont  to  cheer  me 

Among  the  flowers. 

Often  couldst  thou  beguile 

My  heart  of  care, 
Bidding  all  nature  smile 

Sweetly  and  fair. 

Then,  wherefore  should  we  part, 

Friend  of  my  soul  ? 
And  why  should  not  my  heart 
.    Thy  strings  control  ? 


()4  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Because  it  faints  and  droops, 

Weary  with  care  ! 
Because  earth's  flowery  hopes 

Shut  everywhere ! 

The  sober  way  of  life 

Opens  before  me, 
And  tempests,  loud  with  strife, 

Are  bursting  o'er  me. 

Adieu  !  for  we  must  part, 

Friend  of  my  soul ! 
No  longer  can  my  heart 

Thy  chords  control ! 

April,  1848. 

TWO  SMOTHERED  CHILDREN. 

THEIRS  was  not  the  peaceful  death-bed, 
Where  affection's  silent  tears, 

O'er  the  couch  of  pain  fast  falling, 
Blend  with  deep  responsive  prayers  ; 

Where  the  hand  of  fond  affection 
Feels  each  painful,  struggling  breath ; 

Catching  every  throb  of  anguish, 
Till  the  heart  grows  cold  in  death. 

Nay,  their  death  was  strangely  fearful ! 

No  fond  parent  closed  their  eyes, 
And  no  voice  of  pity  answer'd 

To  their  feebly  moaning  cries ! 


THE   CHARMS  OF  AUTUMN.  65 

And  no  mother  bent  above  them, 

With  affection's  sacred  tear ; 
She  who  would  have  died  to  save  them, 

In  that  hour  could  not  be  near ! 

Death  is  dismal  when  the  parting 

Is  not  clouded  over  thus ; 
When  we  see,  amid  its  terrors, 

Looks  of  fondness  and  of  trust. 

Dying  looks — 0,  how  we  prize  them  ! 

How  we  bind  them  to  the  heart ! 
And  the  feeblest,   faltering  accent, 

Cannot  from  our  ears  depart. 

Death  is  fearful  when  his  signet 
On  the  brow  is  gently  placed  ; 

When,  amid  the  lines  of  sorrow, 

Thoughts  of  sweetness  may  be  traced. 

But  to  have  the  fondly  cherish'd 
Pass  without  the  last  farewell — 

This  is  sorrow,  this  is  anguish, 
That  the  heart  may  never  tell ! 

THE  CHARMS  OF  AUTUMN. 

A  MELLOW  haze  is  hanging  now 

Its  shadowy  veil  athwart  the  sky ; 
Voices  of  autumn,  strange  and  low, 
Go  murmuring  by. 


66  SONGS   FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

The  verdure  now  has  pass'd  away, 

With  which  the  forest  late  was  clad ; 
The  leaves  have  each  a  yellow  ray, 
All  brightly  sad. 

And  o'er  the  shrub  that  hangs  its  head, 

And  o'er  the  sweet-brow'd  blossom  too, 
The  Autumn's  spirit  seems  to  shed 
A  chasten'd  hue. 

A  murm'ring  strain  is  waking  now, 
And  chilly  zephyrs  start  around, 
While  the  ripe  fruit,  from  every  bough, 
Falls  to  the  ground. 

A  stillness  gathers  o'er  the  hill, 

As  in  the  chamber  of  the  dead ; 
For  Summer's  throbbing  pulse  is  still, 
Its  life  all  fled. 

And  Autumn,  o'er  her  sombre  bier, 

Hangs  a  dark  wreath  of  tangled  vines, 
And  drooping  flowers,  all  faded,  sear, 
Which  Sadness  twines. 

Autumn,  thy  charms  are  like  the  smile 

On  the  cold  features  of  the  dead ! 

They  leave  a  soothing  solace,  while 

Our  tears  are  shed. 

INT. 


THE  MISSIONARY.  67 


TWO  ROSES. 

THE  roses  that  you  gave  me,  dear, 
I  twined  their  stems  together  ; 

And  laid  them,  in  their  beauty  here, 
And  loveliness,  to  wither. 

And  thus,  methinks,  like  them,  like  them, 
These  close-link'd  hearts  of  ours 

Will  twine,  till,  as  life's  day  grows  dim, 
We  wither  like  the  flowers. 


THE  MISSIONARY. 

'TWAS  a  beautiful  spot  where  they  laid  him  to  rest, 
'Neath  the  shade  of  the  broad-leaf 'd  palm  ; 

Where  the  wild  rose  hung  its  bright  head  o'er 

his  breast, 
And  the  zephyr  was  loaded  with  balm. 

He  had  gone  from  his  home  to  that  distant  shore 

For  a  down-trodden  race  to  toil ; 
But  his  mission  is  ended,  his  labours  are  o'er, 

And  he  sleeps  on  a  foreign  soil, — 

Sleeps  where  the  odours,  that  float  o'er  his  tomb, 
Are  so  fraught  with  diseases  and  death, 

That  his  partner  has  fled  to  her  childhood's  home, 
To  escape  from  their  poisonous  breath. 


08  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Yet  rest,  though  no  tear  o'er  thy  pillow  may  fall, 
In  that  far  distant  place  of  repose  ; 

Rest,  where  the  lonely  sea-bird's  call 
Is  heard  when  the  ocean-wind  blows. 

It  is  nothing  to  thee  where  thy  ashes  rest, 
For  thy  warfare  on  earth  is  now  o'er ; 

And  thy  spirit  has  gone  to  its  home  with  the  blest, 
On  that  happy  and  heavenly  shore. 

184«. 

"THY  BROTHER  SHALL  RISE  AGAIN." 

WHEN  shall  he  rise  ? 

Not  when  sleeping  flowers  awake, 
And  streamlets  from  their  bondage  break, 
And  vernal  zephyrs,  free  of  wing, 
Their  new-born  sweetness  round  us  fling ; 
While  Nature's  tones,  he  loved  so  well, 
Around  his  lowly  pillow  swell — 

Not  then  shall  he  awake. 

When  shall  he  rise  ? 

Not  when  round  his  native  hearth 
Mingle  former  tones  of  mirth ; 
Nor  when  something  whispers  lone 
Of  a  step — a  look — a  tone ; 
Nor  when  tears,  that  fondly  swell, 
Show  he  is  remember'd  well — 

Not  then  shall  he  awake. 


IIOX.  SILAS  WRIGHT.  69 

When  shall  he  rise  ? 

Not  when  near  his  grassy  tomb 
Fond  Affection  sits  in  gloom ; 
When  the  stifling  sigh  is  heard, 
And  the  cold  night  air  is  stirr'd 
By  the  passionate  tones  that  break 
From  the  heart  to  call  him  back — 

Not  then  shall  he  awake 

When  shall  he  rise  ? 

When  the  blue  heavens,  like  a  scroll. 
Backward  in  their  darkness  roll ; 
When  the  stars  shall  fall  away, 
And  the  sun  grow  dark  at  day ; 
When  the  trumpet's  voice  shall  sound, 
Trembling  far  along  the  ground — 

Then,  then  shall  he  awake. 

1847. 

HON.  SILAS  WRIGHT. 

BRING  no  autumnal  flowers, 
To  scatter  sadly  o'er  his  silent  bier ; 
Hopes,  hopes  that  grew   in   Freedom's  sacred 
bowers, 

We  bind  in  darkness  here  ! 

And  let  no  sable'  pall — 
None,  save  the  starry  flag — his  form  enfold : 
Those  blazon'd  stars  around  his  dust  shall  fall 

As  its  broad  stripes  unroll. 


70  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

And  touch  no  chords  of  woe — 
We  need  no  dirge  our  troubled  hearts  to  thrill! 
The  sound  that  toll'd  his  exit  from  our  shore 

Is  pealing  onward  still. 

Warm  are  the  tears  we  shed, 
And  deep  the  anguish  that  has  brought  us  low; 
Our  Country  mourns  for  her  illustrious  dead, 

And  sits  in  weeds  of  woe. 

And  Freedom's  Eagle  now — 
Whose  restless  flight  is  *)ver  onward,  higher — 
Pauses  above  his  ashes,  cold  and  low, 

And  folds  his  wings  of  fire. 

And  hark  his  plaintive  wail, 
His  piercing  shriek  upon  each  breeze  of  air  ! 
It  echoes  far — nor  shall  it  cease  to  swell 

For  many  a  lengthen'd  year. 

TO  MISS  S,  M.  G. 

WHY  is  it  that  my  thoughts  turn  back  to  thee 

From  this,  my  distant  home  ? 
Why  is  it  that  thy  memory  follows  me 

Where'er  I  roam  ? 
I  knew  thee  not  in  girlhood's  buoyant  hours, 

When  happiest  thoughts  are  born ; 
I  wander'd  not  with  thee  through  smiling  flowers 

In  childhood's  morn. 


TO  MISS  S.  M.   G.  71 

Then  wherefore  should  my  heart  send  back  to 
thine 

Its  earnest  throbbings  now, 
While  sad'ning   thoughts  of  friends  I  Ve  left 
behind 

Steal  o'er  my  brow  ? 
We  met  and  parted — well  thou  know'st  the  day ! 

The  skies  were  dark  above, 
And  from  this  breast  had  just  been  torn  away 

Bright  links  of  love. 

Then  I  stood  lonely  'mid  that  stranger  train, — 

No  sister's  smile  was  there ; 
But  thou  didst  throw  around  my  heart  a  chain 

'T  will  ever  wear. 
A  kindness,  which  this  heart  knew  how  to  prize, 

Was  lavish'd  there  on  me — 
I  had  not  hoped  to  find  beneath  the  skies 

Such  sympathy ! 

Yet,  not  for  this  alone  I  love  thee  now  ; 

Ah !  not  for  this  alone 
Do  I  remember  thee  with  thankful  brow, 

While  sad  winds  moan — 
I  knew  the  kindness  which  thou  didst  impart 

To  one  than  life  more  dear, 
Kindness  which  cast  around  the  wanderer's  heart 

A  ray  to  cheer. 


72      SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

For  this  I  love  thcc  !  and  however  far 

Distance  or  time  divide — 
However  long  my  devious  wanderings  are, 

However  wide — 
I  never,  never,  can  such  deeds  forget : 

Oft,  oft  shall  flying  years 

Bring  back  the  thoughts,  which  make  my  eyes 
grow  wet 

With  grateful  tears. 


A  RESPONSE. 

Our  hearts  were  made  for  each  other,  and  they  shall  throb 
together. — Extract  from  a  Letter. 

YES,  they  shall  throb  together, 
With  the  same  deeply  fervid  glow, 
Through  scenes  of  happiness  and  woe, — 

In  bright  and  stormy  weather. 

0  !  they  shall  thrill  the  same 
At  pure  Religion's  holy  shrine, 
And  catch  a  transport  all  divine 

At  Jesus'  sacred  name. 

This  heart  shall  always  feel 
The  same  delight  that  moves  thine  own — 
The  rapturous  gush,  the  mystic  tone, 

Deep  through  its  fibres  steal. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  CHILD.  73 

The  softly  whispering  breeze, 
The  floating  crimson  of  the  sky, 
The  laughing  riv'let  warbling  by, 

The  sound  of  rustling  trees, — 

All,  all  shall  strike  the  same 
Deep-felt  emotion  through  each  breast, 
And  both  shall  share  the  same  unrest, 

The  same  unearthly  flame. 

0,  they  shall  throb  together ! 
The  sweet  delight,  which  thrills  one  heart, 
Shall  bid  the  quick'ning  pulses  start, 

And  tremble  through  the  other. 

1847. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  CHILD. 

ANOTHER  gem,  that  shone  with  purest  ray, 
Has  left  its  casket  to  death's  dire  decay : 
'Twas  taken,  by  the  Prince  of  Bethlehem, 

From  its  bleak  bed  beneath  our  stormy  sky, 
To  glisten  in  his  glorious  diadem 
While  an  eternity  is  rolling  by. 

An  early  floiver  before  us  seem'd  to  fade, 
And  in  the  dust  its  beauteous  form  we  laid ; 
Yet  'twas  transplanted  from  life's  cold  parterre, 

To  flourish  sweetly  in  a  purer  clime, 
Where  are  no  weeds  of  sin,  and  earthly  care, 
Nor  clouds  of  woe,  nor  blighting  mists  of  time. 


74  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.    LAWRENCE. 

A  dove  of  earth  has  spread  his  pinions  soft, 
And  from  our  vision  gently  soar'd  aloft ; 

And  now  he  spreads  his  wings  on  those  blest 

plains, 

Where  birds  of  Paradise  forever  sing — 
Where  an  eternal  noon  of  beauty  reigns, 
To  gild  the  flowery,  everlasting  spring. 

Ye,  who  have  call'd  that  brilliant  gem  your  own ; 
Ye,  on  whose  hearts  its  transient  lustre  shone ; 
Ne'er  to  be  shrouded  by  the  gloom  of  death,. 

It  beams  with  glory  now  forever  sure ! 
0,  would  ye  dim  its  brightness  by  the  breath 
Of  sordid  love,  which  ever  stains  the  pure  ? 

Ye,  who  have  nursed  in  tenderness  the  flower, 
0  !  would  ye  take  it  from  its  heavenly  bower  ? 
How  could  ye  shield  it  from  the  stormy  wind, 
Or  nurture  well  its  soft,  unfolding  charms  ? 
He  who  has  snatch'd  it  from  a  world  of  sin, 
Will  keep  it  safe  in  his  protecting  arms ! 

Ye,  who  have  mourn'd  so  much  your  bright 

wing'd  dove, 

Behold,  he  flutters  near  the  throne  of  love  ! 
Ye  would  not  call  him  thence — he  laves  his 

wings 

In  those  immortal  founts,  which  rise  so  clear! 
Ye  would  not  call  him  thence — the  song  he  sings 
la  blent  with  voices  of  a  purer  sphere  ! 

Of.    184* 


THE   GRAVE- YARD.  75 

THE  GRAVE-YARD. 

IN  its  sacred  enclosure 

How  quiet  they  sleep  ! 
How  blest  is  their  slumber, 

Unbroken  and  deep ! 

The  storms,  in  their  fierceness, 

May  rave  round  the  spot ; 
But  their  loud,  dismal  wailings 

Awaken  them  not ! 

The  world  passes  on 

In  its  ardour  and  strife, 
But  unheeded  by  them 

Is  the  clangour  of  life. 

The  wildness  of  passion — 

That,  wave  after  wave, 
Dash'd  over  their  spirits — 

Is  hush'd  in  the  grave. 

The  grave-yard — the  grave-yard ! 

Imposingly  dread 
Is  the  unbroken  silence 

Which  reigns  o'er  the  dead ! 

Fond  Memory  may  linger 
O'er  days  which  have  gone ; 

Affection  may  call — but 
They  heed  not  her  tone ! 


76  SONGS   FROM  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Our  tears  cannot  wake  them, 
Nor  sighs  break  their  rest ; 

In  vain  do  we  weep 
O'er  the  passionless  breast. 

In  this  sacred  enclosure 

Still  quiet  they  sleep  ; 
And  blest  is  their  slumber, 

Unbroken  and  deep  I 

1845. 

THEY  ARE  PASSING. 

THEY  are  passing — they  are  passing ; 

Friends  I  left  in  all  their  bloom  ! 
Every  breeze  from  home  is  wafting 

Some  new  triumph  of  the  tomb ! 
0,  how  many  happy  faces, 

Shining  once  around  me  there, 
Now  are  with  the  bands  of  ancrels 

O 

In  heaven's  glorious  mansions  fair  ! 

They  are  dying — they  are  dying ! 

Those  we  loved  in  years  gone  by ; 
Those  whose  names,  like  thoughts  of  childhood, 

Seem  like  music  from  the  sky : 
Those,  the  sainted,  and  the  aged, 

Who  were  lingerers  on  our  shore — 
Ah !  their  counsels,  fraught  with  wisdom, 

Ne'er  on  earth  shall  reach  us  more ! 


A  VOICE  FROM  AFRICA.  77 

They  are  fading — they  are  fading  ! 

Those — the  beautiful  and  young — 
Who  with  us  began  life's  journey, 

And  whose  memory  round  us  clung ; 
Who  have  oft  been  in  our  visions 

Since  we  left  their  happy  band — 
Now,  how  many  seem  to  beckon 

From  that  distant  spirit-land ! 

They  are  falling — they  are  falling, 

Like  the  autumn  flowers  that  die  ! 
Like  the  leaflets  of  the  forest, 

Which  e'en  now  are  rustling  by  ! 
I  shall  meet  them — I  shall  meet  them, 

When,  like  them,  I  fall  in.  death  ; 
In  the  spirit-land  I  '11  greet  them, 

Far  from  Time's  bleak,  withering  breath ! 

1848- 

A  VOICE  FROM  AFRICA. 

Come  over  and  help  us. — BIBLE. 

HARK  !  a  voice  is  on  the  gale, 

So  shrill  and  clear ; 
Its  wild  accents  cannot  fail 

To  pain  thine  ear ! 

Lo  !  a  hand  across  the  seas 

Beckons  to  you ! 

A  banner,  flung  upon  the  breeze, 
•  Appears  in  view ! 


78  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

And  fainting  hearts,  that  hold  it  up, 

Sink  one  by  one — 
In  that  dark  clime  each  rising  hope 

With  them  goes  down ! 

Listen  to  that  despairing  cry 

From  a  dark  host ! 
Listen !  ere  every  wind  shall  sigh, 

"  Forever  lost !" 


MY  MOTHER. 

I  TM  thinking  of  my  Mother 

In  this  sad,  dismal  hour, 
When  stormy  winds  and  rains  come  down 

With  chilling,  wintry  power. 

I  think  how  oft  in  autumn, 

When  winds  blew  wild  and  cold, 

"  We  gather'd  round  our  mother's  knee," 
To  hear  some  story  told. 

I  'm  thinking  of  my  Mother — 

How  pleasantly  she  smiled  ! 
I  mark'd  her  cheerfulness  of  soul, 

When  I  was  but  a  child. 

And  then  in  days  of  weariness, 

That  came  in  after  years, 
I  saw  her  struggling  calmly  on 

Amid  submissive  tears. 


TO   MELISSA.  79 

I  'm  thinking  of  my  Mother — 

O  !  as  her  days  shall  wane, 
What  feeling  heart  shall  share  her  grief  ? 

What  hand  shall  soothe  her  pain  ? 

Sure,  if  to  any  one  on  earth 

My  gratitude  is  due, 
My  Mother,  for  thy  care  and  love, 

It  is,  it  is  to  you ! 

Oct.,  1848. 

TO  MELISSA. 

FRIEND  of  my  school-days,  adieu  ! 

I  will  think  of  thee  oft  when  away ; 
And  Mem'ry  those  scenes  shall  renew 

That  are  bright  in  my  fancy  to-day. 

I  see  thee  as  when  we  met 

In  the  joyous  years  gone  by ; 
When  flowers  with  dew-drops  were  wet, 

And  no  shadow  had  dimm'd  our  sky. 

When  Hope  on  thy  forehead  was  bright, 
And  Affection's  gem  shone  there — 

Thine  eye  has  lost  none  of  its  light, 
Thy  brow  is  still  lovely  and  fair ! 

Friend  of  my  school-days,  adieu ! 

Our  ties  of  endearment  are  riven ! 
If  we  never  shall  meet  here  below, 

Let  us  meet  in  yon  beautiful  heaven ! 


80  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

ANGEL  MINISTRIES. 
Do  the  spirits  reigning  there, 
On  those  plains  divinely  fair, 

Think  of  those  who  dwell  below  ? 
Do  they  feel  for  hearts  that  pour 
Tear-drops  on  life's  rugged  shore, 

While  we  walk  in  "  weeds  of  woe  ?" 

And  do  they  attend  the  just, 
When  their  fervent,  only  trust 

Rests  upon  the  Saviour's  name  ? 
When  with  joyful  hearts  we  soar, 
Feel,  and  wonder,  and  adore, — 

Do  they  share  our  wondrous  flame  ? 

Yes,  in  sorrow's  trying  hour, 
When  we  feel  the  tempest's  power, 

They  are  near  to  lead  us  on ; 
And  at  times  of  rapturous  joy, 
When  no  trouble  can  annoy, 

They  are  ever  gazing  down. 

PENITENT'S  OFFERING. 

LUKE  vii,  37-50. 

THERE  beam'd  from  her  downcast  eyes 

A  faintly  trembling  trust, 
But  her  heart,  with  its  load  of  guilt, 

Was  heavily  -wio-liM  m  the  dust. 


PENITENT'S   OFFERING.  81 

She  came  with  her  burning  tears, 

Came  to  the  Saviour's  feet, 
And  offer'd  with  trembling  fears 

Those  costly  odours  sweet. 

And  she  found  the  boon  she  sought — 
The  forfeited  favour  of  Heaven  ; 

How  thrill'd  her  sorrowing  heart 

At  the  words,  "  Thy  sins  are  forgiven !" 

Reader !  gtf,  seek  thou  the  spot 

Where  she  of  Magdala  knelt — 
Thy  heart  is  not  harder  than  hers, 

Nor  deeper  imbued  with  guilt. 

What  though  thou  mayest  not  bring 
Sweet  perfume  from  Araby's  wood  ! 

A  treasure,  more  costly,  is  thine 

To  present  through  the  "  speaking  blood*" 

Place,  low  at  thy  Saviour's  feet, 

Thy  spirit's  quenchless  fires — 
The  thoughts  of  thy  kindling  soul, 

Thy  deep,  untold  desires ! 

Now,  on  this  hallow'd  shrine, 

Pour  the  rich  treasure  forth : 
"  Forgiveness  "  shall  be  thine, 

And  "  Peace  "  of  intrinsic  worth. 
6 


82  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Thine  offering  of  incense,  then, 
To  Heaven  shall  sweetly  rise ; 

For  the  humble  and  contrite  heart 
Our  God  will  not  despise. 


IMC. 


1M7. 


TO  ALMIRA. 

WHEN  the  sun,  declining, 

Whispers  his  adieu ; 
When  the  stars  are  shining 

On  yon  scroll  of  blue ; 
When  the  breezes  whisper 

Softly  round  thy  way ; 
At  the  hour  of  vesper, 

0,  remember  me ! 


TO  A  DYING  IMPENITENT. 

ETERNITY — upon  its  fearful  verge, 

With  trembling  spirit,  thou  art  lying  now ; 

Ready  to  plunge  into  the  rolling  surge 

Which  dashes  its  cold  spray-drops  on  thy  brow ! 

Tremendous    thought !    that  life's  last,  closing 
hour 

Is  flitting  past  thee  with  a  rapid  flight ; 
That  Hope's  declining  star  may  never  pour 

Upon  thy  way  again  its  trembling  light ! 


A  WALK  TO  THE  GRAVE-YARD.  83 

0,  what  is  time  ?    An  island  mid  the  swell 
Of  an  unbounded  and  eternal  flood ! 

Thou  'rt   launching  from    it — Now,   0 !    now 

'twere  well 
To  rest  upon  the  "  bosom  of  thy  God !" 

1847. 

f 

A  WALK  TO  THE  GRAVE-YARD. 

I  WANDER'D  forth  :  the  ah*  was  still, 
A  blue  mist  hung  around  the  hill, 

And  Autumn's  sun  was  low : 
My  pathway  through  the  forest  led, 
And  showers  of  crimson  leaves  were 

From  every  glowing  bough. 

Musing  upon  the  dying  leaf, 

The  fading  flowers'  existence  brief, 

I  reach'd  the  place  of  graves ; 
Where  silence  ever  reigns  profound, 
Save  when,  with  a  low,  sighing  sound. 

The  long  grass  sadly  waves. 

I  read  upon  the  sculptured  stone 
Of  those  who  faded,  one  by  one, 

Before  their  youth  had  fled : 
I  wept  above  the  loved  and  lost, 
Who  wither'd  'neath  a  summer  frost, 

And  with  the  flowers  lay  dead ! 


84  SOXGS   FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Those  who,  like  yonder  leaves,  grew  bright, 
And,  glowing  with  unnatural  light, 

Pass'd  on  the  winds  of  death — 
0,  autumn  leaves !  how  bright  ye  are, 
All  trembling  in  the  lonely  air, 

Floating  on  every  breath  ! 

The  forest  trees  are  lonely  now, 
The  foliage  drops  from  ev'ry  bough, 

But  Spring  shall  all  restore ; 
And  the  sweet  flowers,  that  with'ring  lie, 
Shall  wake  with  the  first  zephyr's  sigh, 

When  Winter's  reign  is  o'er. 

And,  0  !  the  dead— the  precious  dead— 
Who  slumber  in  their  dreamless  bed, 

Shall  they  not  be  restored  ? 
If  flowers  and  leaves  come  forth  with  Spring 
O,  let  us  trust  death's  conquering  King, 

And  rest  upon  his  word ! 


1847. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 

WELCOME,  New  Year!  thou  hast  a  gloomy  brow, 
And  yet  methinks  there  's  gladness  hi  thine 
eye: 

Come  take  thy  station  by  our  pathway  now, 
Numb'ring  our  moments  as  they  hurry  by. 


THE  NEW  YEAR.  85 

New  friend,  we  greet  thee  with  a  solemn  feeling! 

Though  thou  hast  brought  us  hopes  of  a  bright 

hue, 
A  pensive  sadness  through  the  heart  is  stealing, 

Just  as  we  bid  the  flying  year  adieu ! 

We  think  of  joys  borne  on  its  wing  away ; 

We  think  of  friends  whom  it  hath  parted  far — 
O,  the  heart's  purest  pleasures  may  not  stay, 

They  are  more  fleeting  than  those  moments 
were! 

We  think  of  hours,  for  our  improvement  given, 

Fled,  fled  forever  from  our  grasp  on  earth ; 

Of  blessings  which  have  spread  the  wing  for 

heaven — 

Those  that  we  deem'd  of  high  and  lasting 
worth. 

New  Year !  we  turn  our  longing  eyes  to  thee, 
Resolved,  as  thou  shalt  measure,  one  by  one, 

Our  moments,  hast'ning  to  eternity, 
We  will  improve  them  as  we  ne'er  have  done  f 

Then  pass  along,  and  leave  us  on  the  shore 
Of   this   rude   world,  to  struggle  with  the 

waves ; 

Or,  ere  thy  fleeting  moments  shall  be  o'er, 
Steal  our  last  breath,  and  wander  o'er  our 
graves. 


80  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

0,  if  our  spirits'  trust  shall  be  above, 

Vainly  thy  tempests  round  our  path  shall  roar ! 

Our  bulwark  stronger  than  thy  storms  shall  prove, 
The  Lord  shall  be  our  fortress  and  our  tower. 

Welcome,  New  Year !  thou  hast  a  gloomy  brow, 
And  yetmethinks  there 's  gladness  in  thine  eye : 

Come,  take  thy  station  by  our  pathway  now, 
Numb'ring  our  moments  as  they  swiftly  fly ! 

Jan.  lit,  1843. 

THE  FIRST  GRIEF. 

THEY  tell  us  that  childhood's  earliest  tears 

And  sorrows  are  but  brief — 
But  a  gloom  is  cast  o'er  future  years 

By  the  first  cloud  of  grief. 

I  remember  well,  at  childhood's  morn, 
When  the  dewy  flowers  were  bright, 

Ere  sorrow  had  placed  a  single  thorn 
Beneath  my  footsteps  light — 

From  my  mirthful  haunts  I  turn'd  away 

At  a  sister's  farewell  tone, 
And  wept  that  she  who  had  shared  my  play 

Had  left  me  sad  and  lone. 

And  if  I  join'd  in  my  brothers'  mirth 
With  laughter  loud  as  their  own, 

There  still  was  sadness  around  our  hearth — 
Whispering  of  something  gone ! 


A  LOST  SPIRIT,  87 

How  oft  at  even  I  roam'd  abroad, 

When  it  seem'd  that  her  own  mild  eye 

Look'd  down  from  the  floating  sunset  cloud, 
In  the  gorgeous  summer  sky  ! 

0  !  tell  me  not  that  childhood's  tears 

And  sorrows  are  but  brief ; 
There 's  darkness  cast  o'er  coming  years 

By  the  first  cloud  of  grief. 

1849. 

A  LOST  SPIRIT. 

WE  stood  around  the  bier, 
And  many  wept  a  dearly  loved  one  taken  ; 
Yes,  many  a  sigh  and  many  a  falling  tear 

Bespoke  a  heart  forsaken. 

And  wherefore  do  they  mourn  ? 
A  blank  was  at  the  fireside  he  had  left, 
For  Death  stole  by,  at  manhood's  early  morn, 

And  made  a  home  bereft. 

They  wept  that  he  was  gone ; 
Mourn'd  for  the  happy  hours  forever  fled — 
Ah !  many  a  heart,  left  desolate  and  lone, 

Wept  for  the  early  dead. 

Tears  will  be  shed  in  gloom 
When  kindred  ties  by  death  are  rudely  sever'd ; 
But  0,  what  tears  shall  mourn  the  fearful  doom 

Of  a  spirit  lost  forever  ! 


88  8ONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


THE  MEMORY  OF  HOME. 

1  So  passionately  and  deep  does  it  steal  over  my  heart," 
observed  a  friend,  "that  often,  often,  when  away  among 
strangers,  have  I  wept  when  the  dusk  of  evening  came  on." 

Beside  the  stranger's  hearth  I  wept, 
When  twilight  through  the  lattice  crept ; 
For  with  each  softening  shade  of  gloom, 
There  stole  a  tender  thought  of  home. 

I  saw  again  that  fire-side  bright, 
All  glowing  in  affection's  light ; 
A  father's  reverend  form  was  there, 
I  heard  once  more  his  voice  in  prayer.  • 

Brothers  and  sisters  circled  round, 
In  ties  of  sacred  sweetness  bound — 
A  happy  group  at  close  of  day, 
My  thoughts  were  with  them  far  away. 

My  mother's  song  at  twilight  hour 
Came  with  its  soft,  subduing  power, 
A  hallowing  influence  round  me  fell, 
I  wept  with  feelings  none  may  tell. 

Sweet  home !  thy  memories,  fondly  deep, 
Within  the  heart  their  vigils  keep, 
Forever  haunting  with  their  tone 
The  banished  exile's  pathway  lone. 


HAVE   FAITH   IN  GOD.  89 

Beneath  the  stranger's  roof  he  weeps, 
When  darkness  round  his  forehead  creeps ; 
For  with  each  sad'ning  shade  of  gloom 
There  steals  a  thrilling  thought  of  home. 

HAVE  FAITH  IN  GOD. 

Mariner,  on  the  sea  of  life, 
Are  the  tempests  loud  with  strife  ? 
Tremblest  thou  in  wild  alarm, 
Fearful  of  the  gathering  storm  ? 
He  who  once  those  billows  rode, 
Says  to  thee,  "  Have  faith  in  God." 

Traveller !  in  a  desert  way, 
Weary,  lonely,  dost  thou  stray, 
With  a  heart  oppressed  with  fear, 
Shrinking  from  some  danger  near  ? 
He  who  once  thy  pathway  trod, 
Says,  "  Have  faith !  have  faith  in  God." 

Mourner !  bending  sad  and  lone, 
O'er  the  death-recording  stone, 
Weeping  for  the  loved  and  blest, 
Who  have  gently  sunk  to  rest ; 
He  who  burst  from  death's  abode 
Says  to  thee,  "  Have  faith  in  God." 

Afflicted  one !  oppressed  with  pain, 
Dost  thou  of  thy  lot  complain  ? 


90  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Thinkest  thou  too  hard  the  blow, 
Or,  too  sad  thy  lot  below  ? 
He,  who  bowed  beneath  the  rod, 
Bids  thee  stall  "  have  faith  in  God/' 

Weary  and  desponding  one, 
By  thy  dreadful  crimes  undone, 
Are  thy  faults  still  unforgiven — 
Calling  for  the  wrath  of  Heaven  ? 
He,  who  spilt  for  thee  his  blood, 
Tells  thee  to  "  have  faith  in  God." 

Christian,  dost  thou  dread  the  grave  ? 
Fearest  thou  cold  Jordan's  wave  ? 
As  the  waters  nearer  roll, 
Does  their  darkness  fright  thy  soul  ? 
He  who  cross'd  that  billowy  flood 
Whispers  now,  "  Have  faith  in  Gpd !" 

MB. 

THE    OLD   ROCK. 
'Twas  here  with  my  brother 

In  childhood  I  played, 
On  this  white,  smooth  rock, 

In  the  elder's  shade. 

This  spot  is  the  same 

Where  we  strolled  side  by  side ; 
But  alas,  alas ! 

All  has  change'd  beside. 


FAREWELL  TO  WINTER. 

That  fair-haired  child 
Had  a  dimpled  cheek, 

And  an  eye  half- veiled 
In  its  quietness  meek. 

But  a  fearful  change 

Has  passed  over  his  brow, 
In  its  youthful  pride 

It  is  moldering  now. 

And  the  tiny  feet 

That  hi  gladness  roamed, 
Have  left  off  their  wand'rings 

To  lie  in  the  tomb. 

And  his  spirit  has  changed 
Since  we  rambled  here, 

For  it  dwells  in  the  light 
Of  a  purer  sphere. 

And  I  too  have  changed : 

I  am  not  the  child, 
That  gathered  the  blossoms 

So  joyous  and  wild ! 

Ah !  a  change  has  passed 
O'er  the  thoughtless  one, 

Like  the  earliest  tints 
Of  the  flower-leaf  gone. 


92  BONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

For  with  the  quick  lapse 

Of  those  bright,  pleasant  years, 

The  tinge  of  this  cheek 

Has  been  washed  off  with  tears. 

And  over  this  heart 

Has  a  dark  shadow  past, 
And  round  me  there  wails 

A  bewildering  blast. 

But  my  brother,  my  brother, 

We  '11  meet  above, 
Unchanged  in  affection, 

Unchanged  hi  love ! 

IM6. 

HE  KNOWETH  THE  WAY  THAT  I  TAKE. 

Job  xiiii,  10. 

Dark,  dark,  and  indistinctly  traced, 

The  pathway  that  I  tread, 
Leading  me  through  a  desert  waste, 

Where  flowers  lay  withered,  dead. 
Oft  have  I  paused  with  starting  tears, 

And  heart  grown  sad  indeed, 
Asking  amid  my  doubts  and  fears, 

Where  will  this  pathway  lead  ? 
At  length  such  clouds  passed  o'er  my  sky, 

My  heart  was  like  to  break, 
But  soon  I  saw  emblazoned  high, 

"  He  knoweth  the  way  I  take." 


HE  KNOWETH  THE  WAY  THAT  I  TAKE.        93 

My  poor,  distrustful  heart  grew  calm, 

And  rested  firm  on  Him, 
Who  scatters  many  a  holy  charm, 

Along  my  path  once  dim. 
Sweet  odours,  rich  with  sacred  bliss, 

Are  borne  on  every  breeze, 
While  notes  of  thrilling  happiness 

Float  thro'  the  shadowing  trees. 
Blent  with  the  tones  of  nature's  harp, 

Which  in  wild  music  wake, 
Is  gushing  from  my  bounding  heart, 

"  He  knoweth  the  way  I  take." 

But  higher  yet  shall  be  the  song, 

That  gushes  from  my  soul, 
As  still  I  trace  my  way  along, 

Up  to  the  shining  goal ; 
And  purer  yet  shall  be  the  glow 

Of  transport  in  my  breast, 
As  still  I  press  thro'  doubt  and  woe, 

Towards  my  eternal  rest. 
And  when  I  reach  the  fearful  track 

Where  Jordan's  billows  break, 
I'll  send  this  shout  of  triumph  back, 

«  He  knoweth  the  way  I  take." 

B4«.  * 


94  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 


FAREWELL  TO  WINTER. 

Thou  art  passing  from  us  now, 
With  the  ice  drops  on  thy  brow, 

Fare  thee  well ! 

We  sorrow  not  to  say  that  word, 
So  oft  in  scenes  of  sadness  heard, 
When  the  spirit's  chords  are  stirr'd 

By  some  passing  knell. 

We  sorrow  not  with  thee  to  part, 
Sad  and  dismal  as  thou  art, 

Cold  and  stern ; 

With  thy  dark,  forbidding  brow, 
And  thy  breath  of  sleet  and  snow, 
Chilling  in  their  genial  glow  . 

The  thoughts  that  burn. 

Adieu !  stern  winter ;  and  when  death, 
With  his  cold  and  icy  breath, 

Shall  close  around, 
May  we  fall  as  plants,  which  lie, 
While  the  snow-wing'd  storms  pass  by, 
Waiting  for  a  vernal  sky 

T'  unlock  the  ground. 

mm. 


WHITE  ROBES.  95 

WHITE  ROBES. 

White  robes  were  given  to  every  one  of  them. — Rev.  vi,  11. 

And  who  were  those  to  whom  white  robes  were 

given, 

Who  stand  so  radiant  on  the  plains  of  heaven  ? 
They  who  on  earth  sustained  the  hallowed  cross, 
Suffered  and  died  in  the  Redeemer's  cause. 

May  we  not  wear  the  martyr's  crown  in  heaven ; 
May  not  the  martyr's  robe  to  us  be  given ; 
Although  our  lives  we  yield  not  at  the  stake, 
And  though  no  fagot-fires  around  us  wake  ? 

We  may !  we  may !  I  have  seen  those  on  earth 
Who  nobly  sacrificed  their  land  of  birth — 
Friends,  home,  and  country,  freely  gave  up  all, 
Even  health  and  life  at  the  ^redeemer's  call. 

The  angel  answered,  "  These  are  they  who  passed 
Through  earth's  thick  darkness,  bore  its  howling 

blast, 

Who  meekly  waded  through  affliction's  flood, 
And  washed  their  robes  in  the  Redeemer's  blood." 

Then  I,  even  I,  may  gain  a  crown  like  theirs ! 
My  soul  is  struggling  on  through  waves  of  tears, 
And  0,  its  stains  have  all  been  washed  away 
In  the  red  stream  that  flowed  on  Calvary ! 


96  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Ye  sacred  host,  when  fleeting  time  has  gone, 
I'll  take  my  place  with  you  around  the  throne ; 
And  then  my  spirit's  robe  of  spotless  white 
Will  shine  like  yours  in  heaven's  resplendent  tight. 

1845. 

THE  BRIDE'S  FAREWELL. 

Sister,  wilt  thou  think  of  me 
When  the  buds  are  on  the  tree  ? 
When  the  flowers  around  our  dwelling 
In  the  warm  spring  air  are  swelling  ? 
When  thou  tendest  them  alone, 
Wilt  thou  for  the  absent  one 
Ever  shed  one  silent  tear  ? 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  Sister  dear ! 

Farewell ! 

Brother,  let  my  forehead  rest 
For  the  last  time  on  thy  breast ; 
Let  my  arm  encircle  thee, 
And  my  teal's  fall  silently ; 
For  I  feel,  'tis  hard  to  part, 
While  around  my  youthful  heart 
Clings  so  soft,  so  sweet  a  tie — 
Dearest  Brother,  let  me  sigh 

Farewell ! 

Father,  on  thine  aged  brow 
Shadowy  thoughts  are  brooding  now : 


1848. 


THE  SAILOR'S  HYMN.  97 

Thou  art  thinking  of  thy  child, 
Thinking  of  life's  cheerless  wild — 
Heaven,  my  Father,  will  direct  me, 
When  thine  arm  cannot  protect  me ! 
Then  look  not  so  sad  to-day, 
Duty  beckons  me  away — 

Farewell ! 

Mother,  weep  not,  though  I  roam 
From  my  early,  happy  home ! 
Though  thou  miss  my  step  at  eve, 
Do  not  in  my  absence  grieve ; 
For,  my  Mother,  I  am  blest, 
On  another  arm  I  rest ! 
Ah  !  thy  sweet,  maternal  heart 
Swells,  and  breaks  as  I  depart — 

Farewell ! 


THE  SAILOR'S  HYMN. 

Rudely  dash  the  waves  on  high, 
Toward  the  darkly  frowning  sky ; 
Vengeful  tempests,  full  of  wrath, 
Gather  o'er  our  ocean  path. 

Such  is  life — a  troubled  way, 
Dark  with  clouds  of  dashing  spray ; 
Thus  do  passion's  billows  roll 
Fiercely  o'er  the  human  soul. 

7 


98  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Who  shall  calm  the  storm  of  life  ? 
Who  shall  still  the  tempest's  strife  ? 
Who  shall  sweetly  whisper,  "  Peace/' 
Bidding  all  the  tumult  cease  ? 

THOU,  who,  on  the  stormy  deep 
Waking  from  a  peaceful  sleep, 
Spakest,  and  the  winds  obey'd, 
And  the  raging  waves  were  stay'd. 

Tarry  with  us,  Son  of-  God ! 
Calm  to  peace  the  angry  flood ; 
Let  our  hearts  thy  presence  feel, 
Saviour,  whisper,  "  Peace,  be  still !" 

Then  our  shroud  may  be  the  wave, 
And  our  tomb  an  ocean  cave, 
And  our  knell  the  wild  alarm 
Of  the  fiercely  howling  storm ; 

Yet,  how  safely  shall  we  rest, 
Sweetly  and  securely  blest, 
Till  the  Voice,  which  wakes  the  dead, 
Reaches  to  our  coral  bed. 

iMt. 

THE  DIVINE  SIGNET. 
I  knelt  beside  a  coffin  where  was  laid 
The  shrouded  form  of  one  that  bloomed  to  fade ; 
A  brother,  nearer  to  this  heart  of  mine 
Than  the  close  tendrils  of  the  clinging  vine. 


MOTHER,  HOME,  AND  HEAVEN.       99 

That  pale,  cold  hand  how  ardently  I  pressed, 
Which  lay  so  passive  on  the  pulseless  breast ! 
His  heart,  once  throbbing  warmly  as  my  own, 
Was  still  in  death — the  vital  spark  had  flown. 

Tears,  bitter  tears,streamed  o'er  that  peaceful  brow, 
My  heart  grew  sick — I  feel  ihat  faintness  now ; 
Upward  towards  Heaven  I  turned  my  tearful  eye, 
And  Jesus  whispered,  "  Let  thy  tears  be  dry." 

Again  he  spoke :  my  spirit  felt  the  power 
Of  those  sweet  words  in  such  a  sorrowing  hour — 
"  Weep  not,  thy  brother  lives  in  glory  now, 
Behold  my  signet  on  that  placid  brow  /" 

I  heard,  I  gazed — there  was  the  signet  ring 
Which  told  me  he  had  spread  the  unchained  wing, 
And  passed  the  swelling  wave  to  that  blest  shore 
Where  loved  ones  meet  to  separate  no  more. 


MOTHER,  HOME,  AND  HEAVEN. 

Three  of  the  sweetest  words  in  the  English  language  are, 
Mother,  Home,  and  Heaven. — Ladies'  Repository. 

Mother — it  sounds  like  melody  by  night 
Borne  o'er  the  waters  in  a  dreamy  spell, 

Or  like  the  music  of  the  early  light, 

Whose  soft  tones  thro'  the  rustling  foliage  swell ; 
For  in  the  heart's  deep  shrine  its  memories  dwell 


100          SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Fresh  mid  the  cares  that  cluster  darkly  there ! 

What  poet  harp  could  half  their  sweetness  tell, 
Or  breathe  the  emotions  melting  in  a  tear, 
With  which  the  heart  looks  back  through  many  a 
varied  year ; 

Back  to  the  time  when,  cradled  on  her  breast, 

The  little  heart  forgot  its  lightsome  care, 
And  revel'd  in  a  mother's  fond  caress, 

And  listened  to  a  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

O  happy  hours,  how  sweet  a  light  ye  wear ! 
Even  at  that  name,  fresh  thoughts  of  earliest  love 

Crowd  o'er  the  heart  with  images  so  fair, 
We  turn  from  where  our  fond  affections  rove, 
To  think  of  dewy  hopes  which  first  our  garland 
wove. 

Home — 'tis  the  spot,  tho'  humble  and  obscure, 

Where  the  warm  heart  has  cent'red  all  its  joys, 
Where  life's  sweet  sunshine  falls  most  calm  and 
pure: 

Home — 'tis  the  spot  where  pleasure  seldom 
cloys, 

Whose  sacred  peace  no  stormy  wind  destroys, 
A  place  where  love  is  made  the  hallowed  tie, 

Where  social  sweetness  rules  the  heart  and  voice : 
From  its  fair  portals  cold  distrust  may  fly, 
And  a  world's  tinsel'd  show  pass  all  unheeded  by. 


PASSING   AWAY.  101 

Heaven — 0  !  there's  something  in  the  very  sound, 

That  breathes  a  life-draught  to  the  fainting  soul, 
And  kindles  joy,  where  naught  before  was  found 

Save  clouds  of  darkness  in  full  many  a  fold ! 

Our  gaze  it  fixes  on  the  shining  goal, 
The  end  of  all  our  hopes  and  our  desires, 

And  bids  the  ransomed  spirit  oft  behold 
The  shining  gates,  and  the  celestial  choirs, 
And  fits  the  hand  to  tune  our  ringing,  glowing  lyres. 

Heaven — 0  !  its  portals  in  the  sunlight  gleam 

Of  an  unclouded  and  eternal  sky  ! 
When  shall  we  wake  from  life's  bewildering  dream, 

And  cease  at  once  to  suffer  and  to  sigh  ? 

Wake,  where  the  friends  we  love  shall  never  die, 
Beyond  this  stormy  world's  chill,  wailing  blast, 

Among  the  ransomed  and  the  blest  on  high ; 
Where,  when  the  waves  of  death  are  safely  past, 
Heaven,  Home,  and  Mother  may  be  gained  at  last. 

1848. 

PASSING  AWAY. 
On  the  vernal  flower  that  gleams 
In  the  sun's  rich,  mellow  beams, 
With  the  dew-drop  on  its  breast, 
Is  this  sad'ning  truth  imprest, 

Passing  away. 
On  the  glowing  forest  leaf, 
Stamped  with  freshness  strangely  brief, 


102  SOKG8  FROM  THE  ST.    LAWRENCE. 

We  may  read  in  lines  all  sere, 
At  the  closing  of  the  year, 

Passing  away. 

On  the  flashing  river's  tide, 
Where  the  sportive  sunbeams  glide, 
In  its  rocky,  winding  course, 
We  may  list  in  accents  hoarse, 

Passing  away. 

Through  the  vines  around  our  eaves, 
Deep'ning  through  the  changing  leaves, 
Comes  this  whisper  strangely  sad, 
As  the  summer's  glories  fade, 

Passing  away. 

Gleaming  in  their  transient  light, 
All  things  beautiful  and  bright, 
All  things  dearest  to  the  heart, 
Speak  in  tones  that  bid  us  start, 

Passing  away. 

Sweet  to  think  there  is  a  clime 
Far  beyond  the  change  of  time, 
Whose  rich  scenery,  sweetly  fair, 
Never  may  this  impress  wear, 

Nor  pass  away ! 


THE   CONSUMPTIVE.  108 

THE  CONSUMPTIVE. 
"  Sister,  remove  that  curtain  towards  the  west, 

And  raise  my  head  awhile, 
For  I  would  see  the  sun  sink  down  to  rest, 

With  his  departing  smile. 

"  Perchance  it  is  the  last  sweet  sunset  scene 

That  I  shall  gaze  upon ; 
My  life  has  past,  even  like  a  short,  sweet  dream, 

Its  moments  now  have  flown. 

"  0,  I  had  hoped  to  live,  but  fain  would  rest ; 

Those  hopes  have  vanished  now : 
Consumption's  weariness  is  at  my  breast — 

Its  languor  on  my  brow. 

"  Yes,  I  had  hoped  to  live,  for  earth  has  charms 

To  hold  my  spirit  here : 
Life  has  high  prospects,  youthful  hopes  are  warm, 

And  all  looks  bright  and  clear. 

"  Yet,  better  far  to  leave  a  world  of  pain 

Ere  it  shall  gain  our  trust — 
Ere  time  has  forged  his  strong  and  heavy  chain 

To  bind  our  souls  to  dust. 

"  There's  one  sweet  thought,  my  sister,  of  the  past, 

One  thought  of  purest  bliss 
That  lingers  with  me,  even  to  the  last, 

And  yields  a  soothing  peace — 


104  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

"  Early  I  gave  my  wayward  heart  to  God, 
And  breath'd  my  solemn  vow ; 

In  weakness  since,  this  narrow  path  I  've  trod — 
This  thought  sustains  me  now. 

*'  And  calmly  now  I  gaze  o'er  Jordan's  wave 

Without  a  single  fear : 
There  is  no  terror  in  an  early  grave — 

I  would  not  tarry  here. 

"  The  one,  whose  footsteps  I  have  followed  here, 

Will  not  desert  me  now — 
That  Saviour,  0  methinks  he  lingers  near 

To  soothe  my  aching  brow ! 

"  Sister,  I  thank  thee  for  the  tender  care, 

So  long  on  me  bestowed : 
0 !  shall  my  name  no  more  be  in  thy  prayer, 

When  it  ascends  to  God  ? 

"  Nay,  nay,  these  cares  for  thy  sick  brother  dear 

Soon,  soon  shall  all  be  o'er, 
And  yet  I  would  not  be  forgotten  here, 

Though  I  shall  wake  no  more. 

"  0  might  my  memory  lure  the  hearts  I  love 

To  my  Redeemer's  breast, 
And  thoughts  of  Theron  point  the  soul  above 

To  my  eternal  rest." 
*         *          *          *          ••;.-         *         *         * 


THE   DOVE.  105 

He  pass'd  away,  but  yet  the  boon  he  claimed 

In  that  sad  hour  \vas  given : 
To  those  who  knew  him  here,  that  cherished  name 

Is  linked  with  thoughts  of  Heaven. 

1842. 

THE  DOYE. 
Dove,  with  the  drooping  wing, 

I  gaze  on  thy  plumage  softly  fair, 
And  think,  as  thy  spreading  pinions  fling 

A  radiance  on  the  air, 

Of  the  messenger  they  sent 

From  the  lonely  ark  on  the  waters  wide, 
When  naught  but  the  sea  and  firmament 

Were  spreading  on  every  side. 

I  think  of  the  welcome  bough 

Brought  by  a  beautiful  one  like  thee, 

Reviving  hope  on  the  heart  and  brow 
Of  the  world's  one  family. 

Beautiful,  beautiful  Dove ! 

I  think  of  that  messenger  sent  from  the  sky, 
The  Spirit  of  God  to  the  Son  of  his  love, 

Descending  in  fashion  like  thee. 

0,  may  that  Spirit  divine 

In  his  meekness  and  gentleness  rest  upon  me ! 
May  his  glowing  fervour  and  love  be  mine, 

With  his  sinless  purity ! 


106  SONGS   FROM  THE  ST.    LAWRENCE. 

LOVE-A  CONFESSION. 

THEME  my  lyre  has  never  waken'd 
In  its  brightest  hour  of  song ; 

But  its  chords  of  late  are  shaken 
With  an  impulse  new  and  strong. 

Earthly  love  to  me  was  ever 
Like  a  bright,  unreal  dream ; 

Or  a  star  that  seem'd  to  quiver 
Far  o'er  life's  cold,  turgid  stream. 

It  was  something  all  ideal 
That  my  fancy  sometimes  wove — 

Tinged  with  nothing  true  or  real 
Was  the  thought  of  youthful  love. 

Could  this  gloomy  world  of  sorrow, 
Hollow-hearted,  drear,  and  cold, 

Gleams  of  sacred  sunshine  borrow 
E'en  from  interchange  of  soul  ? 

Sympathy — methought  it  vanish'd, 

If  it  ever  lived  on  earth  ! 
Love — I  thought  it  long  since  banish'd 

To  its  place  of  heavenly  birth. 

And  my  soul  was  upward  tending 
With  a  wing  unpoised  below, 

Through  the  mist  its  glance  was  sending 
Where  the  living  waters  flow ; 


1847. 


LOVE A   CONFESSION.  1Q7 

Panting  for  that  tender  union, 

For  that  sympathetic  glow, 
For  that  melting  heart  communion, 

Which  methought  earth  could  not  know. 

Thus,  while  all  below  seem'd  dreary, 
Faith  was  pointing  through  the  vale, 

But  my  soul  was  sad  and  weary, 
And  I  fear'd  'twould  faint  and  fail. 

Now  a  softer  gale  breathes  o'er  me, 
And  my  pathway  seems  to  shine, 

For  a  being  stands  before  me 
With  a  heart  that  beats  like  mine. 

Not  an  angel — for  their  pinions 
Have  been  spread  above  my  way — 

One  that,  in  earth's  dark  dominions, 
Has  been  struggling  on  like  me. 

One  with  sympathetic  feeling, 
With  affection  deep  and  true — 

Love  around  my  heart  is  stealing 
With  a  bliss  it  never  knew. 

Saviour,  O  thy  love  shall  never 
Yield  its  place  to  earthly  bliss  ! 

But  its  deep  and  holy  fervour 
Shall  be  mingled  e'en  with  this  ! 


108  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

THE  OLD  YEAR. 

THE  old  year  whisper 'd 

His  stern  farewell ; 
I  listen'd  at  midnight, 

And  heard  his  knell. 

I  wept  for  the  friend 

That  long  I  had  known, 
When  I  found  his  moments 

Forever  had  flown ! 

I  have  loved  the  old  year : 

It  brought  to  my  heart 
Full  many  a  blessing 

That  shall  not  depart. 

THE  SISTER'S  INQUIRY. 

ZEPHYRS  !  that  stray  'mid  the  garden  flowers, 
Shaking  the  leaves  of  the  vine-hung  bowers  ; 
Say,  have  ye  met  in  your  rambles  to-day 
The  brother  I  've  miss'd  from  my  dreary  way  ? 

And  thou,  gentle  sunbeam !  whose  beautiful  glow 
Lightens  each  path  that  is  traversed  below, 
Hast  thou  seen  of  late,  on  the  wide-spread  earth, 
The  brother  who  pass'd  from  our  lonely  hearth  ? 

The  zephyrs  are  silent,  and  haste  from  the  spot ; 
The  sunbeam  falls  fainter,  but  answers  me  not; 


THE  WINDS.  109 

Ah !  who  shall  inform  me — who  knoweth  the 

road 
To  the  land  where  that  brother  hath  found  an 

abode  ? 

Ye  spirits  of  glory  !  ye  angels  of  light ! 
Have  ye  heard  of  him  yet  in  your  world-wide 
flight  ? 

0  yes,  ye  have  met  in  the  heavenly  throng 
That  brother  whose  absence  has  grieved  us  so  long ! 

1844. 

THE  WINDS. 

WHENCE  dost  thou  come,  thou  boisterous  wind  ? 
And  where  to-day  has  thine  errand  been  ? 
What  message  of  love,  or  of  fearful  wrath, 
Hast  thou  borne  to  the  trav'ler  in  thy  path  ? 

1  ask'd,  and  the  hoarse  wind,  murmuring,  sigh'd, 
Grew  soft  as  a  zephyr,  and  thus  replied  : — 

"  I  came  from  the  south,  where  a  gallant  band 
Have  planted,  upon  the  aggressor's  land, 
Their  proud  eagle  standard :  I  bade  it  wave 
As  it  loves  to  float  in  the  "  land  of  the  brave !" 
But  a  sadder  errand  was  mine  to  yield, 
A  balm  to  the  faint  on  the  battle-field ; 
And,  alas !  as  I  swept  o'er  the  mass  of  slain 
Which  darken'd  that  trampled  and  gory  plain, 
I  could  have  thunder'd,  in  deafening  peals 
That  would  echo  far  from  those  hostile  fields, 


1  1  0  SONGS    FROM  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE^ 

To  the  mansions  of  joy  and  the  house  of  woe, 
Man  is  himself  his  most  terrible  foe  /" 

Perhaps  it  is  thus — but  tell  me  no  more 
Of  the  battle-fields  and  the  flowing  gore : 
The  dove,  methinks,  has  extended  her  wing 
With  the  olive  branch  she  is  soon  to  bring. 
Ah  !  hast  thou  not  flown  o'er  a  brighter  scene, 
Where  even  the  hand  of  the  Spoiler  hath  been  ? 
"  I  have — I  have !  I  have  scented  my  breath 
In  the  place  of  sickness,  the  place  of  death  ; 
Not  where  the  clarion  of  war  was  heard, 
Not  where  the  breast  by  its  impulse  was  stirr'd, 
But  in  the  quiet  of  a  peaceful  home 
I  've  seen  the  brightest  descend  to  the  tomb ; 
I  have  fann'd  the  consumptive's  pallid  brow, 
And  breathed  over  lips  of  a  livid  glow, 
Where  the  spoiler  had  set  as  sure  a  seal 
As  amid  the  gloom  of  the  battle-field ; 
Yet  kindness  and  peace  shed  a  holy  calm, 
While  I  dried  the  tears  with  a  cooling  balm." 

How  sad  is  thy  story !  yet  milder  far 
Than  the  horrid  tales  of  discord  and  war ! 
Thou  tellest  of  cheering  with  thy  cool  breath 
The  dwellings  of  those  who  were  nigh  to  death, 
And  hast  thou  no  tales  of  the  stormy  main  ? 
Of  the  gloom  that  thou  carriest  there  in  thy  train  ? 


THE   WINDS.  Ill 

"  I  have  borne  a  message  of  fearful  wrath 
To  the  shipwreck'd  mariner  in  my  path : 
I  sported  all  night  with  his  hopes  and  fears, 
Occasion'd,  and  then  put  an  end  to  his  tears. 
I  shiver'd  the  masts  to  a  fearful  wreck, 
I  swept  the  rich  spoils  from  the  shatter'd  deck, 
I  scatter'd  a  part  on  the  frightful  shore, 
And  the  rest  went  down  to  be  seen  no  more. 
My  victims  I  dash'd  on  the  rocky  coast, 
Their  shrieks  in  my  deaf 'ning  roar  were  lost ! 
Ask  me  not  wherefore — thou  never  shalt  know 
Till  the  billows  reveal  their  tales  of  woe !" 

O  cease,  ye  winds,  for  I  would  not  hear 
Of  the  wreck-strewn  beach,  or  the  fields  of  war ; 
Nor  more  of  the  chambers  of  death  and  decay ; 
But  have  you  not  pass'd,  in  your  lengthening  way, 
Some  sacred  spot  where  beloved  ones  reside  ? 
Some  pleasing  scene  to  my  vision  denied  ? 

"  Aye,  I  've  breathed  thro'  the  far-off  western 

glades, 
I  have  seen  the  beloved  who  sought  their 

shades ; 

I  pass'd  by  the  one  thou  hast  miss'd  so  long, 
And  bore  far  aloft  her  delightful  song. 
I  return'd — she  question'd  me  there,  like  thee, 
To  know  if  I  'd  pass'd  the  old  homestead  tree : 
I  kiss'd  the  .air  child  of  the  laughing  eye 
Which  you  loved  so  dearly  in  days  gone  by ; 


112     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

I  shook  the  bright  leaves  from  her  flower- 

crown'd  hair, 

And  her  laugh  rung  wild  as  I  left  her  there : 
Yea,  I  've  pass'd  the  shades  where  those  dear 

ones  stray, 
And  I  know  the  haunts  where  their  children 

play." 

Strange  that  a  wind,  which  has  pass'd  o'er  the  deep, 
Spreading  woe  and  death,  in  its  awful  sweep, 
Should  delay  to  gambol  with  childhood  fair, 
Playfully  shaking  the  shadowy  hair, 
Or  fan  the  sick  couch  as  a  softening  gale — 
But  thou  art  away :  farewell,  farewell ! 

1846. 

AN  AUTUMNAL  EVENING. 
I  SIT  me  down  beside  a  gloomy  fire, 
With  naught  around  my  spirit  to  inspire : 
All,  all  alone— no  sound  is  in  my  brain, 
Save  the  dull  beating  of  the  dismal  rain, 
And  that  faint  rustling  of  the  wither'd  leaves 
Upon  the  aged  tree  beside  our  eaves. 

Now  all  without  looks  gloomy,  dark,  and  dread, 
And  my  lone  thoughts  are  with  the  quiet  dead : 
Friend  after  friend  is  passing  Jordan's  wave, 
And  I  must  follow  shortly  to  the  grave — 
Leaving  a  name  which,  like  the  fitful  sigh 
Of  autumn  breezes,  shall  pass  quickly  by. 


«  I  'LL  WAKE   AGAIN."  113 

"I'LL  WAKE  AGAIN." 

'  What  shall  I  tell  your  father,  should  you  be  sleeping  when 
he  arrives?"  asked  an  attendant  of  a  sick  friend.  The 
dying  girl  answered,  with  a  smile, — "Tell  him  I'LL 
WAKE  AGAIN."  She  slumbered— it  was  the  sleep  of  death. 

TELL  him  I  would  have  linger'd 

Until  I  heard  his  step, 
But  nature  sunk  in  weariness, 

And  heavily  I  Ve  slept. 
Tell  him  my  rest  is  quiet 

And  undisturb'd  by  pain, 
And  that  I  bade  you  tell  him 

His  child  would  wake  again. 

Not  in  the  dewy  morning 

Shall  his  cherish'd  one  arise, 
When  the  sun  begins  his  shining 

In  grandeur  through  the  skies — 
Nor  when  the  flower  uncloses, 

And  the  bird  awakes  his  strain, 
Nor  with  bees,  amid  the  roses, 

Shall  his  loved  one  wake  again. 

Nor  when  the  brook  awakens 
The  song  I  Ve  loved  so  well. 

And  the  enlivening  melodies 
Of  spring  around  me  swell ; 
8 


114     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

He  may  no  longer  see  me 

'Mid  the  flowers  I  loved  to  tend ; 

Though  they  may  claim  my  care  again, 
I  shall  not  waken  then. 

But  tell  him  not  to  mourn  me 

As  one  forever  lost, 
As  a  star  that  drops  in  brightness 

From  the  high  and  shining  host — 
For  the  child  of  his  affection, 

Free  from  each  earthly  stain, 
At  the  glorious  resurrection 

Shall  surely  wake  again  ! 

1844. 

CHRISTMAS  MORNING. 

Six  years  ago,  this  Christmas  morn, 
With  heavy,  tearful  eyes  I  rose — "     . 

Eyes  that  had  watch'd  too  sad  and  long, 
Heedless  of  slumber  and  repose. 

And  with  a  heart  as  heavy,  sad, 

That  struggled  between  hope  and  fear, 

I  hastened  quickly  to  the  bed 

Where  lay  a  suffering  brother  dear. 

The  mom  had  broke ;  but  still  a  light 
Burn'd  feebly  in  his  lonely  room, 

As  struggling  with  the  day- beam  bright, 
To  drive  away  the  shadowy  gloom. 


CHRISTMAS   MORNING.  115 

I  laid  my  hand  upon  his  hair, 

And  press'd  it  backward  from  his  brow — 
That  face,  how  strangely,  sadly  fair ! 

I  seem  to  look  upon  it  now ! 

He  mildly  raised  his  eyes  to  mine, 
Then  wish'd  me,  in  a  cheerful  tone, 

"  A  merry  Christmas  " — paused,  and  said, 
"  Sister,  I  meant  a  happy  one. 

"I  know  you '11  not  be  merry  now, 
Your  buoyant  spirits  all  have  flown ; 

Sadness  is  brooding  on  your  brow, 
Sadness  is  breathing  in  your  tone." 

That  day  is  fled,  and  years  have  gone 
Since  my  pale  brother  pass'd  away ; 

But  ever,  as  the  Christmas  morn 
Sheds  over  me  its  earliest  ray, 

Thought  wanders  back  to  the  sad  hour 

I  saw  my  brother  lying  there ; 
And  then  I  hear  his  voice  once  more, 

And  fondly  smooth  his  dewy  hair. 

And  when,  from  many  a  happy  heart, 
The  Merry  Christmas  wish  I  hear, 

The  swelling  tear-drops  quickly  start, — 
My  brother's  tone  is  in  my  ear! 


116     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

THE  BRIDE. 

SHE  stood  at  the  altar,  array 'd  in  white, 

With  roses  entwined  in  her  hair, 
But  her  deep-blue  eye  was  too  strangely  bright, 

Her  cheek  too  transparent  and  fair : 
Her  heart  beat  quick  as  she  breathed  that  vow, 
And  the  flower  leaves  trembled  o'er  her  brow. 

She  turn'd  away,  in  confiding  love, 

From  the  scenes  she  held  so  dear ; 
The  garden  haunts,  the  streamlet,  the  grove, 

She  left  without  shedding  a  tear — 
She  left  them  in  untried  paths  to  roam, 
Left  them  to  gladden  another  home. 

Vines  round  her  casement  were  dropping  away, 

The  blossoms  beginning  to  fade, 
When,  clad  as  she  was  on  her  bridal  day, 

They  brought  her  once  more  to  that  shade — 
Back  to  that  shade  of  her  childhood's  home — 
But  she,  like  the  rose,  had  lost  her  bloom. 

Gather  around  her,  ye  loved  ones,  now ; 

Her  lips  with  your  kisses  impress — 
Affection's  seal  is  still  on  her  brow, 

Though  she  cannot  return  your  embrace : 
On  her  lips  there  lingers  the  same  sweet  smile— 
0,  weeping  parents,  behold  your  child  ! 


THE  BRIDE.  117 

Father,  take  back  your  wandering  one 

To  the  spot  she  had  loved  the  best — 
You  almost  trembled  to  see  her  rove, 

She  returns  for  a  place  of  rest : 
Tear  now  the  vines  from  the  garden  bowers, 
And  lay  your  child  with  her  faded  flowers. 

Mother,  take  home  the  blossom  you  rear'd, 

Which  you  shielded  from  every  blast ; 
Its  tender  petals,  wither'd  and  sear'd, 

Return  to  your  bosom  at  last — 
Take  back  your  child  to  her  early  home  ; 
She  never  more  from  its  scenes  may  roam. 

Brother,  your  sister  returns  again, 

But  she  may  not  gladden  the  hearth 
With  her  former  songs — she  sings  a  strain 

Which  cannot  be  sung  on  the  earth ; 
Yet  welcome  her  back  to  scenes  so  dear, 
She  comes  to  sleep  by  your  pathway  here. 

And  thou,  sad  one,  most  bereaved  of  all, 

Haste  thee  back  to  thy  lonely  home, 
And  live — so  live,  that  when  death  shall  call, 

And  thou  shalt  descend  to  the  tomb, 
Thy  soul  may  meet,  where  ties  are  not  riven, 
Thine  angel  bride  in  the  light  of  heaven ! 


118  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


THE  STEAMER'S  BELL. 

A.  piece  of  the  wreck  of  the  Atlantic,  with  the  steamer's  bell 
attached  to  it,  became  at  the  time,  and  continues  to  be, 
fastened  between  two  rocks.  During  every  swell  of  the 
waves,  the  bell  tolls  forth  its  melancholy  dirge  over  the 
spot  where  the  living  cargo  was  engulfed.— Newspaper. 

HEARD'ST  thou  on  a  distant  strand 
Its  sound  midst  the  ocean's  roar, 

Like  a  voice  from  the  spirit-land — 
A  call  from  eternity's  shore  ? 

'Twas  swept  in  a  fearful  hour 
From  the  shatter'd  wreck  away, 

And  hung  by  the  wild  waves'  power 
Where  it  owns  the  tempests'  sway. 

That  bell  hath  a  language  deep, 
Which  reaches  the  inmost  soul ; 

And  thoughts,  which  at  other  times  sleep, 
Awake  as  those  billows  roll. 

It  speaks  of  ambitious  aims 

In  their  tow'ring  pride  laid  low, 

But  tells  not  of  the  many  names 
Of  the  dead  who  sleep  below. 

It  speaks  of  the  hopes,  once  bright, 
Quench'd  in  the  waves  forever ; 

Of  those  bands  which  trouble  might 
Labour  in  vain  to  sever. 


MILDLY   THE  SUN.  119 

It  speaks  like  a  tocsin  tost 
Up  from  the  surges  of  time, 

Chanting  a  dirge  for  the  lost, 
With  heavy,  unceasing  chime. 

"Tis  thus  with  surviving  hearts, 
Where  passion's  billowy  swell 

Has  hung  the  memory  of  the  past, 
Like  an  ever-sounding  knell. 

That  bell,  on  a  distant  strand, 
Heard  mid  the  ocean's  roar — 

'Tis  a  voice  from  the  spirit-land, 
A  call  from  eternity's  shore. 

,348. 

MILDLY  THE  SUN. 

MILDLY  now  the  sun  is  shining 
Where  I  Ve  seen  it  shine  so  oft ; 

Slowly,  radiantly  declining, 

And  the  winds  are  low  and  soft. 

Wintry  storms,  methinks,  are  dying, 
Blue  and  tranquil  seems  the  sky ; 

Silvery  clouds  are  calmly  lying 
In  the  broad  expanse  on  high. 

Since  last  winter  breath'd  her  farewell, 

I  have  pass'd  through  scenes  most  strange ; 

"  O'er  the  spirit "  of  my  vision 
There  has  come  a  sudden  change. 


120     BONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

In  my  sky,  then  clouded  over, 
Now  appears  a  heavenly  charm  ; 

And  white  pinions  near  me  hover, 
Shielding  me  from  ev'ry  harm. 

There  is  one  angelic  spirit, 

Clad  in  mortal  garb,  beside  me, 

With  a  heart  of  deep  affection 
Ever  near,  and  near  to  guide  me. 

One  to  whom  this  heart  is  sending 
All  its  warmest  throbs  of  bliss — 

Round  me  hope  and  love  are  blending 
All  their  hues  of  happiness. 

1848. 

TO  MY  FATHER. 

WHO  shall  smooth  thy  hoary  haira 
In  thy  life's  declining  day  ? 

Who  shall  steal  away  the  cares 
Deep'ning  fast  around  thy  way  ? 

I  had  thought  to  be  thy  stay 
In  the  evening  of  thy  years ; 

I  had  thought  to  cheer  thy  way, 
I  had  thought  to  share  thy  tears. 

But  the  path  of  duty  led 
To  a  far-off  field  of  care  ; 

In  another  sphere  I  tread, 
And  another's  joys  I  share. 


THE  SPIRIT   OF  LIBERTY.  121 

0  !  may  kindred  Aearts  as  warm 
Scatter  comforts  round  thee  here ! 

Mid  the  darkness  and  the  storm, 
May'st  thou  have  a  light  to  cheer ! 

May  thy  faltering  steps  descend 

Calmly,  sweetly  to  the  tomb  ! 
May  thy  great,  Almighty  Friend 

Safely  guide  thy  spirit  home ! 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  LIBERTY. 

THE  Spirit  of  Liberty 

Wakes  in  our  vales, 
I  hear  a  low  melody 

Borne  on  the  gales : 

The  sound  is  inspiring, 

It  rouses  the  free — 
List,  list  to  its  thrilling  notes, 

Wild  though  they  be ! 

"Awake,  0  Columbia! 

Awake  in  thy  might, 
While  the  sunshine  of  freedom 

Falls  over  thee  bright ! 

"  While  thy  star-spangled  banner 

Triumphantly  streams, 
And  each  plume  of  thine  eagle 

Refulgently  gleams. 


122     BONGS  PROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

"  Rouse,  rouse  thee,  Columbia  ! 

The  echoing  sky 
To  thy  watchwords  of  freedom 

Shall  yield  a  reply!" 

Free  Men  and  Free  Labour, 
Free  Speech  and  Free  Soil, 

Shall  be  heard  till  the  minions 
Of  slavery  recoil. 

Free  Speech  and  Free  Labour 

Each  mountain  and  vale 
Shall  echo,  till  tyrants 

With  trembling  turn  pale ! 

Then  shout  for  free  labour, 

Ye  millions  that  toil, 
Till  the  heavens  shall  thunder, 

ALL  EARTH  IS  FREE  SOIL  ! 
1848. 

THE  THOUSAND  ISLANDS  OF  THE  ST.  LAW 
RENCE. 

Inscribed  to  the  Rev.  P.  D.  GOBRIE,  of  Ogdensburgh,  at 
whoi»e  request  these  lines  were  written,  while  on  a  trip  to 
Oswtgo,  in  July,  1848. 

THE  cloudless  heavens  were  blue  and  mild, 
As  swift  we  sped  our  watery  way 

Amidst  the  thousand,  verdant  isles 

Which  make  the  broad  St.  Lawrence  gay. 


THE  THOUSAND  ISLANDS.  123 

Our  course  was  onward,  mid  those  gems 
Of  green  which  lie  in  beauty  there, 

And  on,  and  on — till  day  grew  dim, 
We  saw  them  scatter'd  everywhere. 

Thus,  thus  along  life's  rapid  stream 
A  thousand  objects  tempt  our  sight, 

Which  brightly  in  our  visions  gleam, 
O'erspread  with  beauty  and  with  light. 

As  we  advance  they  all  recede, 
And  a  broad  lake  before  us  rolls, — 

0,  in  that  fearful  hour  of  need, 

One  hand  alone  can  save  our  souls ! 

If,  when  upon  that  wave  we  're  hurl'd, 
We  have  the  Saviour  at  our  helm, 

With  joy  we  leave  behind  the  world, 
And  death  cannot  our  souls  o'erwhelm. 

Ye  beauteous  Isles !  ye  beauteous  Isles ! 

I  learn'd  a  lesson  from  you  there — 
Ye  ever  lend  your  choicest  smiles 

The  lonely  mariner  to  cheer. 

Ye  wear  a  look  of  calmness  bright, 
That  never  in  the  storm  departs — 

Who  would  not,  in  this  world  of  night, 
Thus  carry  hope  to  troubled  hearts  ? 


124     80NG8  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


"WE  KNOW  NOT  HOW  HAPPY  WE  ARE." 

"  WE  know  not  how  happy  we  are," 

Said  a  voice  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
As  we  sat  where  a  beautiful  star 

Was  shedding  a  silvery  ray : 
So  blissful  and  sweet  were  the  skies  above, 
I  fancied  them  glowing  with  looks  of  love ; 
All  nature  with  transport  seem'd  to  thrill, 
Tho'  the  breeze  was  hush'd  and  the  vine  was  still. 

"  We  know  not  how  happy  we  are," 

I  have  thought  hi  my  musings  to-night : 
We  are  free  from  earth's  festering  care, 
And  blest  with  unmeasured  delight. 
Away  from  the  world,  its  noise  and  its  strife, 
So  sweetly  secluded  and  tranquil  our  life ; 
Here  nothing  arises  our  pleasures  to  mar — 
We  know  not,  we  know  not  how  happy  we  are. 


MY  BROTHER. 

Written  on  the  anniversary  of  his  death. 

FOUR  long,  long  years  have  past 
Since  I  watch'd  beside  him,  with  a  tearful  eye, 
Night  after  night,  and  knew  that  he  must  die, 

And  fear'd  each  day  the  last. 


MY    BROTHER.  125 

At  length,  as  darkness  fell 
Over  the  earth,  he  call'd  us  round  his  bed, 
And  told  us  that  his  day  of  life  had  fled — 

Bade  us  a  long  farewell ! 

I  almost  see  him  now — 

His  thin  white  hands  were  clasp 'd  upon  his  breast, 
That  spoke  of  peace — and  yet  of  that  unrest 

The  dying  only  know. 

His  forehead,  white  and  clear, 
Glisten' d  with  gathering  dews  of  life's  last  night ; 
But  0,  that  cheek  and  eye,  how  strangely  bright ! 

Consumption?  s  seal  was  there. 

He  spoke  ;  but  that  deep  tone 
Scarce  rose  above  a  whisper,  and  a  quiver 
"Was  on  his  lips,  as  when  the  roses  shiver, 

Ere  the  white  leaves  are  strown. 

He  spoke  of  youth  and  hope — 
Of  death  and  parting — of  a  home  above ; 
Said  that  even  then  a  Saviour's  priceless  love 

Could  buoy  his  spirit  up. 

He  bade  us  weep  no  more, 
NTor  grieve  that  he  had  pass'd  from  earth's  dull 

care, 
But  follow  on,  in  faith  and  humble  prayer, 

Toward  that  eternal  shore. 


126     SONGS  FROM  THE  nl.  LAWRENCE. 

He  ceased  to  speak  ;  and  then 
We  knelt  in  fervent  prayer  his  couch  beside, 
Committing  to  that  sure  Eternal  Guide 

That  dear,  departing  friend. 

But  morning  dawn'd  again ; 
And  still  he  linger'd,  calm,  serenely  fair, 
As  if  etherealized  for  purer  air 

By  long-refining  pain. 

The  sun  at  noonday  shone  ; 
And  o'er  those  features  pass'd  a  fearful  change ; 
That  hectic  cheek  grew  dark,  and  sudden,  strange, 

Turn'd  white  as  sculptured  stone ! 

Fainter  the  quick  breath  grew  : 
He  murmur'd,  "  Pray ;"    the  voice  of  prayer 

arose, 
And  when  it  ceased,  those  beaming  eyes  unclosed, 

And  looked  a  sweet  adieu  ! 

Gently  he  pass'd  away : 

Death  left  unchanged  that  calm  and  holy  brow, 
But  0  !  the  grave  has  soil'd  its  brightness  now 

With  darkness  and  decay. 

Scarce  eighteen  winters'  snows 
Had  fallen  around  that  fondly  cherish'd  form, 
Ere,  like  a  flower  that  bows  beneath  the  storm, 

It  sunk  to  sweet  repose. 


A    BURIAL    AT   SEA.  127 

My  brother  !  hast  thou  fled  ? 
Thou  gentle  playmate  of  my  infant  years, 
Sweet  sharer  of  my  earliest  hopes  and  fears, 

0,  art  thou  with  the  dead  ? 

It  cannot,  cannot  be ! 

I  see  thee  as  in  health ;  thy  look,  thy  voice — 
That  cheerful  smile,  that  made  the  heart  rejoice, 

Is  fix'd  in  memory. 

But  deeper  graven  there 
Is  the  submission  deep,  the  holy  calm 
That  o'er  those  fading  features  shed  a  charm, 

Serene,  divinely  fair. 

0,  sad  and  dismal  day 
The  day  I  wept  above  thy  dying  bed ; 
The  day  I  saw  thee  number'd  with  the  dead ; 

Its  hours  moved  mournfully. 

Another  day  shall  come, 
When  I,  like  thee,  shall  lay  me  down  to  rest, 
When  I  shall  meet  thee,  with  the  pure  and  blest, 

In  that  immortal  home. 

1847. 

A  BURIAL  AT  SEA, 

NIGHT  lay  upon  the  stormy  seas, 
Where  that  lone  vessel  stood 

With  banner  flung  upon  the  breeze, 
Above  the  ocean  flood. 


128     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Thro'  the  dark  clouds  the  moonbeams  threw 

Anon  a  fearful  glare 
Upon  that  dark  ship's  mournful  crew, 

Gather'd  in  silence  there. 

They  bring  their  dead,  not  for  a  rest 
In  some  green  place  of  graves, 

But  in  grim  ocean's  fearful  breast, 
Down  mid  her  awful  caves. 

Slowly  they  lower  the  lifeless  form — 

A  sullen  plunge  is  heard, 
And  moving  sobs,  amid  the  storm, 

From  hearts  with  anguish  stirr'd. 

One  moment,  and  the  waves  close  o'er, 

And  roll  with  fierceness  by, 
Mingling  their  thunders,  as  before, 

With  the  loud  tempest's  cry. 

The  vessel  then  speeds  on  her  way, 
But  sorrowing  hearts  are  there — 

Keep  the  memorial,  O  thou  Sea, 
Intrusted  to  thy  care. 

1MT. 

TO  A  MONTHLY  PINK. 

WHAT,  budding  now? 
Other  flowers  have  long  since  died ; 
They  all  fell,  with  drooping  brow, 

Side  by  side. 


TO   A  MONTHLY  PINK,  129 

Here  thou  art, 

Blooming  in  thy  freshness  still, 
Like  the  green  hopes  of  the  heart 

Naught  can  chill. 

Look  abroad, — 

Clouds  are  gathering  in  the  sky, 
Tempests,  wailing  fierce  and  loud, 

Pass  thee  by.    . 

Drifting  snows 

Through  the  garden  lanes  are  seen, 
Showing  where  the  flowers  repose, 

But  thou  art  green. 

Wouldst  thou  teach 
This  poor  heart  to  wear  a  bloom 
Which  the  tempests  cannot  reach, 

Nor  e'en  the  tomb  ? 

0 !  sweet  flower, 
Thou  dost  whisper  gentle  things 
Of  the  sunshine,  and  the  shower, 

And  zephyr's  wings. 

Thou  dost  speak 
Of  the  summer's  golden  hue, 
Of  the  lilac's  blushing  cheek, 

And  violet  blue ; 
9 


130  SONGS  FROM  THE   ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Of  the  breeze, 
Laden  with  its  incense  meet, 
Trilling  through  the  leafy  trees, 

0,  how  sweet ! 

Gentle  flower, 

Winter  holdeth  still  his  sway ; 
He  must  tyrannize  his  hour, 

Then  away. 

Thanks  to  thee ! 

Thou  hast  brought  me  visions  bright, 
Of  the  summer's  buoyancy, 

Free  and  light. 

Feb.,  1848. 

A  SCATTERED  HOUSEHOLD. 

ONE  perish'd  on  the  raging  seas, 
Where  the  tall  mast  was  bow'd ; 

While  death  was  on  the  startling  breeze, 
And  terror  in  the  cloud. 

He  made  his  pillow  deep  below 
The  ocean's  sounding  waves, 

Where  the  bright  pearls  and  corals  glow 
In  its  unfathom'd  caves. 

One  fell  upon  the  battle-field, 
Where  the  war-spirit  frown'd ; 

No  kindred  hand  his  eyelids  seal'd, 
Or  drest  the  fatal  wound. 


IMS. 


A  SCATTERED  HOUSEHOLD.  181 

And  one  lay  calmly  down  to  die 

Beneath  the  cocoa  bough  ; 
No  kindred  voice,  no  hand  was  nigh, 

To  soothe  his  burning  brow. 

One  in  the  valley  of  the  West 

Adorn'd  an  humble  lot  — 
A  happy  home  for  child  and  guest, 

A  peaceful,  rural  spot. 

She  sleeps  amid  the  forest  glades, 
Where  the  wrong'd  Indians  roam  ; 

Far  from  her  childhood's  rural  shades, 
Far  from  her  early  home. 

Another,  and  the  last  one,  fell 

Beneath  a  southern  sky  ; 
Where  soft,  melodious  murmurs  swell, 

And  softer  winds  sweep  by. 

A  scatter'd  household  !  who,  that  saw 
Them  mingle  round  one  hearth, 

Deem'd  that  this  day  would  find  them  thus 
All  scatter'd  o'er  the  earth  ! 

But  thus  it  is  —  Ah  !  ever  thus 

Is  our  allotment  strange  ; 
And  happy  would  it  be  for  us, 

Had  earth  no  sadder  change  ! 


132  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 


SUDDEN  STORMS. 

I  thought  to  wander  merrily, 
With  the  bird  and  singing  bee, 

But,  alas,  alas ! 

Clouds  have  gather'd — winds  grow  chill — 
All  is  dark,  and  cold,  and  still — 

Hark  the  dismal  blast ! 

Why  do  tempests  ever  gather 

In  the  bright  and  glad  spring  weather, 

When  all  nature  smiles  ? 
Why  the  sun  not  always  shine, 
Cheering,  with  his  rays  divine, 

Fields  and  woody  dells  ? 

Why  ?  Ah  soon !  how  very  soon, 
These  bright  and  sunny  days  alone 

Would  the  meadows  sear ; 
And  make  the  little  brooks  shrink  back 
From  their  winding,  pebbly  track, 

As  if  smit  with  fear ! 

Then  let  the  chilly  tempests  gather ; 
Even  in  the  glad  spring  weather, 

Let  the  storms  rage  wild — 
Quickly  as  they  disappear, 
Nature's  glowing  face  shall  wear 

A  greener,  sweeter  smile. 

IMS. 


THE  FORGOTTEN.  133 

THE  FORGOTTEN. 

Above  her  grave  the  turf  was  not  yet  green, 
When  he  who  wept  so  late  her  couch  beside, 

Approach'd  the  altar  with  a  brow  serene, 
Leading  another  and  a  fairer  bride. 

No  more  shall  tears,  for  the  belov'd  one  shed, 
Stain  that  fond  cheek  lit  up  with  smiles  so  soon ; 

No  more  shall  wailings  o'er  the  early  dead, 
In  sadness  steal  around  that  marble  stone. 

Ah,  no !  another  claims  within  that  heart 
The  place  left  vacant  there  by  buried  love ; 

Another's  smiles  have  drawn  the  rankling  dart, 
And  wreaths  of  gladness  for  the  mourner  wove. 

Rest,  thou  forgotten  one !  No  startling  sighs 
Shall  burden  the  soft  zephyrs  near  thy  tomb ; 

Another  fills  the  place,  by  thee  so  priz'd, 

In  that  chang'd  heart,  and  that  deserted  home. 

O  love — connubial  love !  and  art  thou  this, 
A  flame  soon  smother'd  in  the  closing  grave  ? 

A  spirit  vanishing  with  no  impress 

Left  on  the  lonely  walk,  or  moon-lit  wave  ? 

Alas !  what  fond  memorial  of  the  dead        ^ 
Shall  earth  retain  when  human  hearts  forget  ? 

When  hearts  forget !  Ah,  well  it  hath  been  said, 
That  "  Cliange  on  all  things  hath  her  signet  set" 


134  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

DISTANT  VIEW  OF  THE  RIVER. 

From  an  elevated  tract  in  Bangor,  N.  Y.,  the  St.  Lawrence 
river  can  be  distinctly  seen  at  the  distance  of  about  twenty 
miles. 

Far  along  the  blue  horizon, 

Stretch'd  in  tranquil  light  it  lay, 

While  my  eye  went  wand'ring  o'er  it, 
In  the  distance  far  away. 

Many  a  pleasing  thought  was  rising, 
Waken'd  by  that  lovely  scene, 

Of  the  beauteous  vales  and  hamlets, 
Of  the  homes  that  lie  between. 

Thus  the  eye  of  Faith  may  venture 

O'er  the  boundary  of  time, 
Pierce  the  deep  involving  shadows 

Hanging  o'er  that  mystic  clime. 

But  the  heart  that  would  be  ranging 
Thro'  those  lovely  skies  serene, 

Will  be  ling'ring  round  the  objects 
That  in  dimness  lie  between. 

•'Far  along  the  dim  horizon, 

Stretch'd  in  tranquil  light  it  lay, 
While  my  eye  went  wand'ring  o'er  it 
In  the  distance  far  away. 


, 

THE  WHITE  CLOUD.  185 

THE  WHITE  CLOUD. 

One  snowy  cloud  is  resting  now 

Upon  the  blue  sky's  breast, 
And  while  I  gaze,  with  anxious  brow, 

I  envy  such  a  rest — 
Long  for  the  peace  earth  may  not  know 

My  soul  has  been  in  quest. 

Well  purified  from  stains  of  sin, 

Calm  as  that  cloud  of  white, 
Above  the  world,  where,  all  serene, 

The  air  is  ever  bright — 
Thus  would  I  rest,  when  storms  descend, 

And  tempests  gather  might. 

But  lo !  that  cloud  is  floating  there 

Into  the  depths  of  blue, 
The  breezes,  springing  fresh  and  fair, 

Are  wafting  it  from  view ; 
Clouds,  there  is  not  in  earth,  or  air, 

A  place  of  rest  for  you ! 

But  though  through  space  ye  hurry  on, 

And  Change  your  motto  be, 
This  weary  soul,  when  life  is  gone, 

Shall  spread  its  pinions  free, 
And  rest  with  the  unchanging  One 

Through  all  eternity. 


136  SONGS   FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

THE  DESERTED  COTTAGE. 

The  vine,  untrained,  was  creeping  there — 
Round  the  low  porch  it  hung, 

And  sighing,  seemed  to  ask  for  care, 
As  in  the  breeze  it  swung. 

The  violet,  all  uncultur'd,  too, 

Grew  with  the  daisy  wild ; 
But  with  a  leaf  of  paler  blue, 

It  bowed  and  meekly  smiled. 

The  twitt'ring  swallow  round  the  eaves 

Kept  up  a  dismal  song ; 
The  wind  blew  sadly  through  the  leaves, 

And  sighing,  died  along. 

The  green-sward  in  its  freshness  lay — 

The  path  was  all  untrod ; 
No  foot  had  shook  the  dews  away, 

Which  glisten'd  on  the  sod. 

A  sense  of  loneliness  was  there — 

I  felt  it  as  I  gazed ; 
It  came  in  every  breath  of  ah*, 

And  in  the  sun's  pale  rays : 

'Twas  not  the  tangled  vine,  nor  yet 

The  violet  so  fan*, — 
Nor  untrod  path,  with  dew-drops  wet — 

Nor  breezes  sighing  there ; 


THE  DESERTED  COTTAGE.        137 

Nor  song  of  bird,  that  touched  the  soul 
With  loneliness  so  strange, — 

It  was  a  thought  that  o'er  me  stole — 
A  thought  of  deo,th  and  change. 

I  heard  the  step  that  once  rung  there — 
The  tones  that  cheered  that  spot, 

And  saw  once  more  the  faces  fair 
Of  that  deserted  cot. 

Conversing  with  the  past,  I  felt 

'Twas  consecrated  ground, 
Where  joy  or  sorrow  once  had  dwelt, 

Or  love  a  place  had  found. 

There  hope  had  sweetly  swelled  the  heart, 

And  fear  had  been  a  guest ; 
There  death  had  shot  his  sudden  dart, 

And  stilled  the  throbbing  breast. 

And  footsteps  here,  once  echoing  round, 
Were  hushed  within  the  tomb, 

And  some  a  watery  grave  had  found, 
Far  in  the  ocean's  foam. 

Just  as  the  slanting  sun-rays  shed 
Their  beauty  round  that  spot, 

I  passed,  with  slow  and  thoughtful  tread, 
From  the  DESERTED  COT. 

1848. 


138  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

THE  YOUNG  DISCIPLE. 

She  walk'd  with  even  tread 
Through  the  wild  mazes  of  a  reckless  world ; 
Beauty  and  youth  were  circling  round  her  head, 

And  Hope  her  flag  unfurl'd. 

She  dwelt  among  the  gay, 
Among  a  joyous  and  a  thoughtless  crowd ; 
And  she  was  bright  and  beautiful  as  they, 

Though  not  of  beauty  proud. 

Her  modest,  humble  mien 
Show'd  that  a  spirit  lowly,  meek  was  hers ; 
Her  brow  was  as  the  morn  still  and  serene, 

Ere  the  first  zephyr  stirs. 

0 !  she  had  cast  her  heart, 
With  all  its  fulness,  on  the  Saviour's  breast, 
.  And  found  the  peace  Heaven  can  alone  impart, 
A  sure  and  tranquil  rest. 

Pale  sickness  came  at  last, 
And  she,  though  lovely,  faded  day  by  day, 
As  thou  hast  seen  a  bright  cloud,  hurrying  past, 

Slowly  dissolve  away. 

They  laid  her  down  to  rest, 
One  evening,  with  the  cold  drops  on  her  brow, 
And  gather'd  round  her  as  the  struggling  breath 

Came  fitful,  faint,  and  slow. 


1848. 


LET  ME   SLEEP.  139 

She  spoke  in  broken  tones 
Of  the  blest  Saviour,  as  her  friend  and  guide, 
Then  whisper'd  "Farewell"  to  those  mourning 
ones, 

And  sweetly  smil'd  and  died. 

Fair  as  a  star  declines, 
In  all  its  brightness,  but  to  shine  elsewhere ; 
Thus  did  she  vanish,  thus  the  immortal  mind 

Pass'd  to  another  sphere. 


LET  ME  SLEEP. 

"  Let  me  sleep,"  she  softly  said, 
As  she  meekly  bowed  her  head 

With  a  peaceful  smile ; 
And  those  eye-lids  drooping  low, 
And  those  lips,  as  white  as  snow, 
And  that  cold  and  drooping  brow, 

Gleaming  mild, 

Told  me  'twas  her  latest  sleep  ; 
And  the  mourner  bowed  to  weep 

O'er  the  dying  one : 
Gentle  child !  she  past  away 
Like  a  star  at  dawn  of  day — 
Like  the  latest  sunset  ray 

She  was  gone. 


140          SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

O,  she  slept  a  gentle  sleep ! 

Yet  methhiks  'twas  dreamless,  deep, 

For  she  wakes  not  now ; 
Wild  winds  blow  around  her  bed, 
Nightly  dews  their  incense  shed 
Round  the  spot  where  sleeps  the  dead, 

Cold  and  low. 

1848. 

HOPE  AND  FEAR. 

Hope  and  Fear, 

Strangely  are  ye  blended  here — 
Here  in  this  sad  world  of  ours, 

Where  joy  and  sorrow  meet  together, 
Where  the  gloomy  storm-cloud  lowers 

Often  in  the  sunniest  weather. 

Hope,  thy  smile 
Can  the  heart  of  care  beguile ; 
Thou  pointest  to  a  flowery  way, 

Through  the  distant  future  wending— 
0,  how  many  a  joyous  ray 

With  each  sunny  beam  is  blending ! 

Rising  Fear 

Sees  that  pathway  through  a  tear — 
Beholds  along  the  distant  sky 

Dark  and  dreadful  omens  hover ; 
Hears  in  the  wind-gust's  fitful  sigh 

Sounds  that  hope  could  ne'er  discover. 


CLOUDS  AT  SUNSET.  141 

Friends  are  ill — 

Hope  sees  health's  returning  smile, 
Speaks  of  days  when  at  the  board 

Or  the  fireside  we  shall  meet  them — 
When,  to  health  and  friends  restored, 

We  shall  joy  to  see  and  greet  them. 

Boding  Fear 

Sees  them  on  the  sable  bier ; 
Beholds  them  clad  in  garments  white, 

Hears  the  fearful  dirge-note  swelling, 
Sees  them  borne  beyond  our  sight, 

To  their  low  and  silent  dwelling. 

Hope  and  Fear, 

Strangely  are  ye  blended  here — 
Here  in  this  sad  world  of  ours, 

Where  joy  and  sorrow  meet  together — 
Here  where  oft  a  storm-cloud  lowers 

In  the  brightest,  sunniest  weather. 


CLOUDS  AT  SUNSET. 

The  sun  in  his  splendour  is  sinking  away 
Far  down  in  the  rose-coloured  west ; 

The  black  clouds,  that  darken'd  the  sky  through 

the  day, 
Lie  cradled  in  beautiful  rest. 


142  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

They  have  chang'd  their  hue — all  white  and 
serene 

Then*  banners  are  softly  unfurl'd, 
Like  the  hov'ring  pinions  of  angels,  when  seen 

In  the  light  of  the  heavenly  world. 

O !  thus,  when  the  sun  of  the  Christian  descends 
To  pass  with  its  splendor  away, 

The  dark,  floating  clouds  of  adversity  lend 
A  charm  to  the  close  of  his  day. 

These  clouds  in  the  light  of  the  future  all  change, 
And  put  off  then*  mantles  of  gloom — 

Like  heavenly  messengers,  lovely  and  strange, 
They  brightly  encompass  the  tomb. 


IS  IT  NOTHING  TO  THEE? 

We  were  anxious  to  stop,  after  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon, 
as  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  was  to  be  adminis 
tered.  I  asked  a  friend,  one  whom  I  thought  to  be  a  friend 
of  Jesus  also,  to  intercede  with  our  company  and  persuade 
them  to  tarry  until  the  services  were  closed.  She  replied 
in  a  careless  tone,  "  O,  it  is  nothing  to  me." 

Is  it  nothing  to  thee,  that  the  Saviour  has  said, 
"  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  me  ?" 

And  nothing  to  thee  that  his  blood  has  been  shed, 
To  wash  thy  pollutions  away  ? 


IS   IT   NOTHING  TO   THEE  ?  143 

Is  it  nothing  to  thee,  that  he  came  from  above, 

And  so  swift  to  thy  rescue  fled  ? 
That  he  left  his  throne  on  the  wings  of  love, 

To  suffer  and  die  in  thy  stead  ? 

When  a  rebel  condemned,  in  dark  bondage  to  sin, 

Thy  spirit  was  hopelessly  bound ; 
Was  it  nothing  that  angels  the  praise  should  begin, 

Of  Him,  who  a  ransom  had  found  ? 

Is  it  nothing  that  justice  should  sheathe  his  sword, 

When  reeking  in  Jesus'  blood  ? 
That  the  risen,  ascended,  and  glorified  Word, 

For  thee  intercedes  with  thy  God  ? 

If  'twas  nothing  that  sundered  the  temple's  veil, 

And  the  rocks  of  Judea  in  twain, 
Which  burst  the  graves  of  the  saints  that  slept, 

And  woke  them  to  life  again ; 

If  'twas  nothing  which  darkened  the  mid- day  sun, 
With  a  shroud  of  the  deepest  hue, 

When  the  Saviour  exclaimed,  "  It  is  finished,  'tis 

done," 
The  scheme  of  salvation  for  yoa; 

If  all  this  was  nothing,  then  well  may  you  say, 
As  they  gather  around  the  board, 

It  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  will  not  obey 
The  words  of  my  crucified  Lord. 


144  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

O,  if  aught  could  the  obdurate  spirit  move, 

And  stir  all  its  depths  within, 
"Tis  the  thought  of  that  sacrifice  offered  in  love, 

To  purify  man  from  his  sin. 

1844. 


THE  BROKEN  HARP. 

A  writer  in  the  New- York  Gazette,  on  visiting  the  tomb  of 
Margaret  Davidson,  remarks,  ' '  On  one  side  of  the  pediment 
is  sculptured  the  representation  of  a  broken  harp,  with 
some  appropriate  lines." 

That  thrilling  harp  is  broken, 

Whose  numbers  o'er  us  stole, 
And  bade  entrancing  sweetness 

To  gush  within  the  soul. 
Its  melody  was  wakened 

By  a  young  spirit  here, 
Till  all  the  world  was  ravished, 

And  angels  bowed  to  hear. 

That  ringing  harp  is  broken, 

And  on  the  willow  swings — 
A  weight  like  death  has  fallen 

Upon  the  tuneful  strings ; 
The  young  and  lovely  minstrel 

Has  laid  her  down  to  rest, 
And  the  sunlight  falls  unheeded 

Above  her  peaceful  breast. 


THE   BROKEN   HARP.  145 

But  her  spirit  doth  not  slumber, 

Though  her  harp  is  now  unstrung ; 
For  those  messengers  of  Heaven, 

Who  were  listening  while  she  sung, 
Thought  her  numbers  too  entrancing 

For  this  sterile  world  below, 
And  wish'd  to  hear  them  sounding 

Where  the  waves  of  crystal  flow. 


That  harp,  that  harp  is  broken  ; 

But  the  list'ning  angel  choir 
Conveyed  the  minstrel's  spirit, 

In  a  chariot  of  fire, 
To  a  clime  of  bliss  and  beauty, 

To  a  harp  of  sweeter  tone — 
They  promoted  the  young  minstrel 

To  a  place  before  the  Throne. 


Weep  not  for  her  advancement — 

She  was  needed  in  the  sky ; 
Weep  not  for  the  rent  harp-strings — 

She  has  better  ones  on  high ! 
And  mourn  not  for  the  numbers 

Which  were  floating  to  thine  ear, 
But  haste,  my  soul,  to  join  her 

Where  she  charms  a  purer  sphere ! 
10 


146     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  BRIDE. 

WHAT  was  it  'woke  a  thought  of  her — 
The  gentle  and  the  beautiful  ? 

I  know  not,  yet  fond  memories  stir, 
As  when  the  sudden  zephyr's  swell 

Takes  up  the  leaves  that  long  have  lain, 

And  makes  them  seem  alive  again. 

I  see  her  as  I  saw  her  when 

Hope  had  her  bridal  chaplet  wove  ; 

A  stranger  far  from  youthful  friends, 
Buoy'd  up  by  ever  constant  love ; 

When  from  her  eye  a  something  beamed, 

That  told  how  fondly  she  had  dreamed. 

Upon  her  forehead,  pure  and  fab-, 
Lingered  a  trace  of  tender  thought ; 

The  soul  of  love  was  mirrored  there — 
What  eye  could  gaze  and  see  it  not ! 

0 !  she  was  beautiful,  and  bright 

As  spring-time's  earliest,  purest  light. 

I  see  her  as  I  saw  her  when 

A  change  had  pass'd  upon  that  brow : 
The  joyous  spring  was  here  again, 

And  the  same  flowers  began  to  blow — 
A  fleeting  twelvemonth  passed  away, 
And  in  her  snowy  shroud  she  lay. 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  BRIDE.  147 

A  look  of  bitterness  was  there 
Upon  her  still  and  shadowy  face ; 

A  look  of  deep,  corroding  care, 
Too  painful  for  the  eye  to  trace ; 

A  look  of  woe  that  touched  the  heart, 

And  bade  the  fount  of  feeling  start. 

>!**£. 

Some  whispered  that  a  few  sad  years 
Would  bow  her  gentle  spirit  down ; 

Yet  no  complaint,  save  silent  tears, 
On  the  meek  face  was  ever  known : 

They  said  that  her's  was  blighting  woe — 

Ah,  who  could  all  its  blightings  know ! 

Who  knew  the  weary  hours  she  listened 
With  beating  heart  the  well-known  tread  ? 

The  while  her  dark  eye  sadly  glistened, 
And  her  young  heart  grew  faint  with  dread  ? 

And  who  could  know  the  pang  that  rent 

Her  soul  from  its  clay  tenement  ? 

None,  save  that  ever  watchful  Eye 

Placed  on  the  wrong'd  and  helpless  ever — 

Heaven  heard  the  first  disturbing  sigh, 

Heaven  saw  the  quiv'ring  heart-strings  sever ! 

Woe,  woe  to  him,  the  thoughtless  one, 

Who  crushed  the  fair,  meek  blossom  down ! 

1848, 


148  BONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

THOUGHTS  IN  AUTUMN. 
I  started  from  a  dream  of  bliss 

At  Autumn's  plaintive  wail, 
And  each  sweet  thought  of  happiness 

Fled  on  the  passing  gale. 
That  gale  awakened  memory's  lyre 

To  numbers  thrilling,  deep, 
That  Autumn  can  alone  inspire — 

I  turned  aside  to  weep. 

I  thought  how  oft  in  early  years 

I  started  with  a  sigh, 
And  turned  away  to  hide  my  tears 

As  the  cold  blast  swept  by ; 
How  once  I  wept  when  Autumn's  tread 

Among  my  flowers  I  heard — 
Wept  when  I  found  they  all  had  fled 

With  each  bright  singing  bird. 

More  bitter  now  the  tears  I  shed, 

But  not  for  flowers  I  weep : 
Callista  slumbers  with  the  dead, 

And  Theron  shares  her  sleep ; 
Hazen  at  length  grew  sick,  and  fell 

Beneath  the  blast  of  death, 
And  Ira  since  has  sighed  "  farewell," 

And  fled  from  Autumn's  breath. 


THOUGHTS  IN  AUTUMN.  149 

One  left  us  when  the  summer's  sky 

Was  bright,  serene,  and  fair — 
When  the  wild  flower  of  richest  dye 

Shed  fragrance  on  the  ah* : 
One  left  us  when  the  faded  world 

Lay  hi  her  snowy  shroud, 
When  wintry  tempests  fiercely  whirled 

Their  way  along  the  cloud. 

One  died  when  the  spring  blossoms  hung 

Upon  the  garden  trees, 
Where  the  blithe  swallow's  anthem  rung 

Upon  the  balmy  breeze. 
O  'twere  a  fitter  time  to  die 

When  Autumn  flowers  grow  pale, 
And  the  wild  wind  sweeps  sadly  by 

With  such  a  mournful  wail ! 

But  I  will  only  ask  to  stay, 

Beneath  our  changing  sky, 
Until  amid  this  dire  decay 

I  learn  to  live  and  die : 
Then,  if  the  angel  Azriel  bring 

A  summons  to  depart, 
The  glorious  gate  of  heaven  shall  fling 

Its  radiance  round  my  heart. 

It  matters  not  if  summer  bring 
Her  load  of  rich  perfume, 


150     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Or  if  the  Autumn  zephyr  sing 

A  requiem  o'er  my  tomb ; 
I  shall  not  heed  the  transient  mirth, 

In  which  the  gay  delight ; 
Nor  shall  I  pause  to  see  if  earth 

Looks  beautiful  and  bright. 

I  then  shall  pass  beyond  the  cares 

Of  this  inconstant  life — 
Beyond  its  sorrows  and  its  snares, 

Its  turmoil  and  its  strife. 
Then,  then  pale  Autumn,  then  thy  breath 

Shall  never  reach  me  more ; 
For  clouds  of  sorrow,  pain,  and  death 

O'ershadow  not  that  shore. 


WHAT  IS  SUBMISSION? 

May  we  not  feel  the  chast'ning  rod, 
And  yet  be  reconcil'd  to  God  ? 

Or,  must  the  stricken  heart 
In  a  deep,  pulseless  stupor  lie, 
And  know  no  grief,  and  heave  no  sigh, 

Nor  writhe  beneath  the  smart  ? 

"  Be  calm,"  they  say,  "  Be  reconcil'd, 
"  Nor  weep  in  agony  so  wild — 

"  'Tis  wrong,  'tis  wrong  to  mourn !" 


SONG  TO  THE   BIRDS.  151 

My  Father,  is  it  wrong  to  sigh, 
When  many  a  strong  and  kindred  tie 
Is  from  the  spirit  torn  ? 

Ah !  is  it  wrong,  when  passion's  wave 
Rolls  its  high  surges  round  the  grave, 

Breaking  amidst  the  gloom ; 
Can  it  be  wrong,  at  such  an  hour, 
To  feel  its  overwhelming  power, 

And  weep  above  the  tomb  ? 

It  is  not  wrong  !  Sure  I  may/ee£, 
Yet  be  submissive  to  the  will 

Of  Him  who  dealt  the  blow : 
'Tis  right  to  feel !  'tis  right  to  weep ! 
My  Saviour  wept  in  anguish  deep, 

While  wand'ring  here  below. 

God  will  not  chide  me  for  my  tears — 
He  knows  how  dark  the  cloud  appears, 

Which  has  shut  out  the  dawn ; 
Full  well  he  knows  I  'm  reconcil'd, 
And,  though  I  weep  with  anguish  wild, 

Can  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done !" 

SONG  TO  THE  BIRDS. 
Ye  restless  wand'rers  through  the  air, 

Pause  on  your  tireless  wings  awhile, 
And  watch  with  me  the  sunset  fair, 

And  see  the  radiant  landscape  smile. 


152     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

Come  down  from  yonder  tow'ring  height, 
And  sit  ye  on  this  spreading  bough — 

Nay,  nay !  those  crimson  clouds  of  light 
Allure  you  onward,  upward  now. 

Had  I  your  wings,  thou  restless  train, 
I  would  not  mount  those  clouds  of  light ; 

1  'd  take  my  course  more  near  the  plain, 
And  find  some  spot  to  me  more  bright. 

Some  spot,  where  smiles,  that  warm  the  heart, 
Scatter  their  purer,  richer  rays ; 

Where  crimson  clouds  more  softly  float 
In  the  calm,  summer  evening's  haze. 

Some  spot,  where  long  belov'd  ones  tread, 

Some  sacred  hamlet  far  away  ; 
Quick,  quick  my  pinions  should  be  spread, 

And  seek  those  shades  without  delay. 

In  part  my  search  would  be  in  vain, 
For  some  I  Ve  lov'd  I  might  not  find — 

Nay,  nay !  my  flight  naught  should  restrain, 
I'd  seek  the  dwelling  of  the  mind! 

I  shall  have  wings,  sweet  birds,  like  you, 
And  then  I  '11  find  the  lov'd  and  lost ; 

I  '11  bid  the  world  a  long  adieu, 
And  fly  to  what  I  covet  most. 


BIRDS  WISER  THAN  MEN.  153 


BIRDS  WISER  THAN  MEN. 

The  stork  in  the  heaven  knoweth  her  appointed  times ;  and 
the  turtle,  and  the  crane,  and  the  swallow,  observe  the 
time  of  their  coming ;  but  my  people  know  not  the  judg 
ment  of  the  Lord. — JER.  viii,  7. 

YES,  the  aerial  songsters  know 

The  time  to  leave  this  land  of  ours  : 
When  chilly  blasts  begin  to  blow, 

And  frosts  of  autumn  scathe  the  flowers, 
How  quick  they  spread  their  airy  wing, 

And  take  their  flight  to  sunnier  skies — 
A  land  where  sweeter  flow'rets  spring, 

And  wintry  tempests  never  rise  ! 

They  know  when  to  return  again : 

Swiftly  they  come,  on  wings  of  light, 
When  Spring  breathes  sweetly  o'er  the  plain, 

And  earth  is  beautiful  and  bright. 
But  0,  my  people,  saith  our  God, 

Have  not  the  swallow's  wisdom  here ; 
Though  tempests  wild  come  like  a  flood, 

They  look  not  for  a  brighter  sphere. 

When  storms  of  sorrow  beat  around, 
And  judgments  are  in  mercy  given, 

Their  souls,  still  clinging  to  the  ground, 
Refuse  to  seek  their  native  heaven. 


154  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

0,  wretched  man,  how  frail  thy  boast ! 

Wert  thou  not  form'd  for  nobler  ends  ? 
Arouse  thee,  ere  forever  lost ! 

The  birds'  thy  wisdom  now  transcends  ! 


SUMMER  NOON. 

STILL  and  glassy  lies  the  river 

In  its  sultry  light ; 
Not  a  leaflet  deigns  to  quiver 

O'er  its  bosom  bright. 

Not  a  breath  of  air  awakens' 

In  the  hazy  sky ; 
And  the  brooklet  is  forsaken — 

Tuneless,  drear,  and  dry. 

Summer  noon,  thy  hours  are  weary 

To  the  human  heart ; 
And,  though  all  may  seem  more  dreary 

When  the  cold  winds  start ; 

Yet  there 's  not  this  morbid  weakness 

Hanging  o'er  us  then, 
For  the  heart  can  bear  the  bleakness 

Of  stern  winter's  reign. 

Thoughts  awake  with  the  wild  ringing 

Of  the  stormy  wind ; 
Tempest  clouds  are  ever  bringing 

Freshness  to  the  mind. 


TRIAL,  A  BLESSING.  155 

But  the  summer's  noon-tide  fervour 

Sears  the  soul  within  ; 
Thought  lies  like  a  turgid  river — 

Not  a  wave  is  seen. 

1848. 

TRIAL,  A  BLESSING. 

Blessed  is  the  man  that  endureth  temptation :  for  when  he 
is  tried,  he  shall  receive  the  crown  of  life,  which  the  Lord 
hath  promised  to  them  that  love  him. — JAMES  i,  12. 

BLESSED  indeed  are  they, 

Who  in  the  evil  day 
Stand  firm  against  temptation's  wily  power ; 

Who  on  that  God  rely 

That  rules  the  world  on  high, 
And  can  support  them  in  the  trying  hour. 

Blest  with  the  Saviour's  love, 

Who  "  hides  their  life  above," 
And  fill'd  with  peace  that  earth  can  ne'er  bestow ; 

With  Jesus  for  their  guest, 

How  joyfully  they  rest, 
Though  storms  of  sorrow  o'er  their  pathway  blow. 

And  blest,  when  life  shall  close, 
With  triumph  o'er  their  foes, 

They  shall  arise,  released  from  worldly  strife — 
Released  from  earthly  chains, 
From  cares,  and  griefs,  and  pains, 

Which  throng  them  now  along  the  way  of  life. 


156  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 

And  in  the  world  above, 

That  clime  of  light  and  love, 
Millions  shall  welcome  them  at  last  to  rest ; 

And  Jesus  shall  appear, 

Jesus  their  friend  most  dear, 
To  crown  his  servants,  and  pronounce  them  blest. 


TO  THE  WESTERN  BREEZE. 

SWEET  western  breeze — sweet  western  breeze, 
Now  sobbing  faintly  through  the  trees, 
Pause  on  your  fleety  pinions  here, 
And  brush  away  my  falling  tear ! 

Say,  hast  thou  pass'd  that  spot  afar 
Where  the  belov'd  of  childhood  are  ? 
When  didst  thou  wave  those  homestead  trees  ? 
When  wast  thou  there,  sweet  western  breeze  ? 

Say,  wert  thou  there  at  morning's  dawn  ? 
Or,  later  still,  when  eve  came  on  ? 
And  did  thy  breath,  around  those  eaves, 
Then  gently  stir  those  lattice  leaves  ? 

O  !  didst  thou  catch  those  tones  of  love 
Which  follow  me  where'er  I  rove  ? 
Still  sobbing  faintly  through  the  trees, 
Thou  answerest  not,  sweet  western  breeze. 


THE   BROKEN   PENCIL.  167 

THE  BROKEN  PENCIL. 

EMMA  gave  me,  when  we  parted, 
This  small  gilded  pencil  here  ; 

She  was  cheerful  and  light-hearted, 
And  we  thought  not  of  a  tear. 

Now  I  *m  weeping  o'er  the  token 
Of  her  friendship  and  her  love ; 

For  its  glitt'ring  case  is  broken, 
Like  the  heart  I  did  not  prove. 

Worthless  thing !  thou  hast  deceived  me, 
Proved  my  confidence  in  vain — 

Like  the  friend  I  loved  so  dearly, 
But  may  never  trust  again. 

Tender  friends — how  high  we  prize  them, 
How  we  weep  when  they  are  dead ! 

But  to  see  the  world  despise  them, 
Is  by  far  more  darkly  dread. 

And  to  feel  the  spell  is  broken 

Which  has  bound  them  to  our  heart — 

"Tis  a  feeling  none  have  spoken, 
When  they  saw  the  loved  depart. 

Choice  memento !  fittest  emblem 
Of  the  heart  I  thought  so  pure ! 

Emblematic  of  the  friendship 

Which  I  thought  must  long  endure. 


158  SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE. 

Thou  art  broken,  fragile  charmer, 
Like  the  friend  my  heart  held  dear ; 

Cast  aside,  neglected  lying, 
Fast  thy  beauties  disappear. 

Emma !  O,  the  love  I  Ve  borne  thee 
Costs  me  many  a  blush  of  shame ! 

From  my  bleeding  heart  I  Ve  torn  thee, 
Cast  aside  thy  tarnish'd  name ! 

HAPPY  NEW  YEAR. 

Suggested  by  hearing  a  friend  say  he  had  found  the  Net* 
Year,  but  was  in  search  of  the  Sappy. 

SURELY,  thought  I,  'tis  this,  'tis  this — 
A  thirst  for  earthly  happiness — 

Which  prompts  our  search  below ; 
A  something  lurks  within  the  breast 
Which  pants  for  happiness,  for  rest, 

That  earth  cannot  bestow. 

To-day  how  many  hearts  beat  high 
With  hopes  as  bright  as  yonder  sky, 

With  dreams  of  earthly  bliss ! 
Thro'  pleasure's  paths  they  take  then*  way, 
And,  like  my  friend,  this  New- Year's  day, 

They  search  for  happiness. 

Onward  the  pleasing  phantom  flies, 
And  on  they  press  to  grasp  the  prize, 


ARE  THEY  GONE?  159 

And  lo,  'tis  onward  still ! 
Vain,  vain  their  search !    Th'  immortal  mind 
No  earthly  happiness  can  find, 

Its  mighty  void  to  fill. 

Delusive  dream !    These  long-sought  joys 
Are  naught  but  empty,  fleeting  toys, 

Like  bubbles  on  the  wave  : 
A  moment  they  allure  us  here, 
Then  rapidly  they  disappear, 

And  perish  in  the  grave  ! 

1841. 

ARE  THEY  GONE? 

A  LONG-ABSENT  friend  sat  down  by  our  hearth, 

And  I  saw  a  deep  shadow  of  gloom 
Pass  over  his  brow,  as  he  spoke,  with  a  sigh, 

Of  those  dear  ones  who  sleep  in  the  tomb. 
"  Are  they  gone  ?"  he  exclaim'd,  and  his  voice 
was  so  sad 

That  it  moved  the  deep  fountains  of  grief ; 
They  burst  from  concealment,  and  bitterly  flow'd, 

Till  my  bosom  experienced  relief. 

"  Are  they  gone  ?" — And  he  gazed  on  the  vacant 
seats 

Of  our  circle,  deserted  and  lone, 
As  if  he  would  question  the  sorrowful  truth — 

Can  it  be,  can  it  be  they  are  gone  ? 


100     SONGS  FROM  THK  aT.  LAWRENCE. 

That  evening  remembrance  presented  to  view 
Each  form  and  each  feature  so  plain, 

That  it  seem'd  my  dear  brothers  had  waken'd 

from  death, 
And  encircled  our  fireside  again  ! 

I  saw  them — I  saw  them !    The  first  one,  who  fell 

With  a  forehead  so  tranquil  and  fair, 
And  the  dark  eye,  whose  lustre  was  caught  from 
above, 

With  the  look  which  the  glorified  wear : 
As  calmly  he  smiled  as  when  this  was  his  home, 

And  his  voice  had  the  same  gentle  tone — 
I  saw  him,  I  heard  him  beside  our  lone  hearth — 

How  could  I  believe  he  had  gone ! 

The  one  who  soon  follow'd,  the  next  to  depart, 

The  youngest,  whose  cheek  was  so  bright 
Ere  Death's  fearful  signet  was  placed  on  his  brow, 

Where  it  glisten'd  so  pearl-like,  so  white : — 
He  was  there  with  that  smile  of  affection  so  warm, 

Which  in  sickness  and  health  ever  shone ; 
The  light  of  his  cheerfulness  gladden'd  my  heart, 

And  I  could  not  believe  he  was  gone. 

And  the  other  was  with  us — the  last  one  who  fell, 
The  last  one  who  sunk  to  the  tomb ; 

The  last  one  who  whisper'd  a  solemn  farewell, 
And  enter'd  the  mansions  of  gloom ! 


ANGELS.  161 

So  late,  that  it  secnis  like  a  dream  of  the  night, 
Which  on  wings  of  the  morning  has  flown — 

How  can  I  believe  that  he  sleeps  in  the  grave 
How  can  I  believe  he  has  gone ! 

They  are  here,  they  are  here  !    Say,  have  ye  not 
heard 

That  the  pure  and  the  blest  often  come 
With  a  message  of  love  from  the  heavenly  land, 

And  as  guardians  to  pilot  us  home  ? 
Ye  spirits  of  Paradise !  say,  are  ye  here 

To  fill  up  the  circle  so  lone  ? 
0,  let  me  believe  ye  are  hovering  near, 

For  I  sorrow  to  think  ye  are  gone ! 

18*5. 

ANGELS. 

ANGELS  from  their  native  bowers, 

On  their  starry  pinions, 
Come  to  this  sad  world  of  ours, 

Search  its  dark  dominions. 

And  where'er  contrition's  sigh 

'Scapeth  from  the  lowly, 
They  are  sure  to  linger  nigh 

With  a  transport  holy. 

And  wherever  faith  is  found 

In  the  heart  upspringing, 
Those  bright  hosts  encamp  around, 

Joy  and  solace  bringing. 
11 


162  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Where  the  mother  rocks  her  child, 

In  its  cradle  sleeping, 
Watches  its  soft  dreaming  smile, 

There  their  wings  are  sweeping. 

Sweetly,  fondly  do  they  lend 

Solace  to  the  weary  ; 
On  the  steps  of  age  attend, 

Make  its  path  less  dreary. 

And  they  linger  by  the  side 

Of  the  sick  and  dying, 
Who  in  Jesus'  love  confide, 

Ready  wingM  for  flying. 

1850. 

THE   VINE. 

I  SAW  my  brother  tour  away  a  vine, 

Which  had  been  clinging  to  our  garden-tree : 
Up  to  the  branches  closely  did  it  twino, 

And  yet  he  tore  its  little  rings  away  ; 

And  on  the  ground  its  wither'd  tendrils  lay : 
Pressing  the  damp  earth  o'er  its  clusters  then, 

Before  I  ask'd  the  cause,  I  heard  him  say, 
That  had  he  left  it  to  the  wind  and  rain, 
It  would  have  never  lived  to  see  the  Spring  again. 

And  thus,  methought,  our  Father  tears  away 

Our  fondest  hopes,  which  cling  so  close  below, 
And  in  the  dust  doth  our  affections  lay : 


illE   MOOX.  1C3 

Lest  the  dark  storms  of  sorrow,  grief,  and  woe, 
The  surly  blasts  that  here  in  darkness  blow, 
Should  blight  th'  immortal  part,  that  fain  would 

rise, 

He  makes  us  sleep  in  death,  and  slumber  low, 
Till  softer  air  breathe  o'er  our  radiant  skies, 
And  in  eternal  Spring  these  deathless  souls  arise. 

1847. 

THE  MOON. 

How  sweetly  the  moon,  in  her  silvery  light, 

Looks  down  on  this  beautiful  scene  ! 
All  nature  seems  smiling  more  peaceful  to-night, 

And  the  earth  and  the  trees  are  more  green. 
0,  the  sweet,  placid  moon !  her  burnishing  rays 

Are  glad'ning  the  earth  with  delight ; 
She  has  caught  those  beams  from  the  king  of  day, 

To  light  up  our  shadowy  night. 

Thus,  when  some  earthly  attraction  shall  lend 

A  charm  to  our  pathway  below ; 
When  the  rays  of  gladness  and  hope  shall  blend 

In  their  brightest  and  holiest  glow  ; 
Thou  sweet,  placid  moon,  we  will  think  it  like 
thee! 

Though  it  ravish  our  hearts  with  delight, 
It  has  borrow'd  its  beams  from  the  Ruler  of  day, 

From  the  Fountain  of  beauty  and  light ! 


164     SONGS  FROM  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE. 


FALLS  IN  PAKISHVILLE. 

'TWAS  pleasant  on  those  sloping  banks, 

Down  by  that  rushing  tide, 
To  watch,  at  daylight's  ebbing  hour, 

The  foam- crests  roughly  glide  : 
High  rocks  were  piled  on  either  side, 

Along  that  sounding  shore ; 
And,  while  we  gazed,  e'en  thought  was  lost 

In  the  tumultuous  roar. 

How  beautiful  that  lovely  night, 

The  wave,  the  earth,  the  air ! 
My  spirit  rcvel'd  deep  in  bliss 

While  I  was  standing  there  ; 
It  drank  the  sweetness  of  that  scene, 

The  sweetness  of  that  hour, 
And,  list'ning  to  the  foam- white  waves, 

Felt  all  their  music  power  ! 

0 !  I  have  gazed  on  many  a  scene, 

Which  might  have  been  as  bright ; 
But  never  had  my  heart  before 

So  kindled  at  the  sight ! 
Ne'er  had  I  felt  the  rapt'rous  awe, 

That  so  entranced  my  soul, 
Bidding  successive  waves  of  bliss 

In  sweetness  o'er  me  roll ! 


THE   WARNING  VOICE.  165 

What  was  the  cause  ?  what  was  it  gave 

Such  brightness  to  this  scene  ? 
Which  made  the  wave  more  musical, 

The  landscape  more  serene  ? 
Not  that  my  heart  at  once  had  caught 

An  answering,  echoing  tone — 
A  feeling  more  poetical 

Than  it  before  had  known  : 

Nay,  but  a  hand  was  clasp 'd  in  mine, 

A  heart  was  beating  near, 
That  made  this  scene  of  loveliness 

A  robe  of  splendour  wear ! 
An  eye  was  gazing  then  with  mine, 

Which  kindled  at  the  sight ; 
Making  the  scene  more  beautiful, 

More  glorious  and  bright. 

THE  WARNING  VOICE. 

HARK  !  a  mystic  voice  is  calling 

Soft  and  low, 
And  a  gloom  is  round  me  falling — 

I  must  go ! 

I  must  go  in  youth's  bright  morning, 

When  my  sky  is  clear ; 
For  this  strange,  strange  voice  of  warning 

Now  is  in  my  ear. 


16t>  SONC.b    FKUM    THE   bl.    I.A 

Earth  looks  bright,  and  hopes  arc  beaming 

All  around  my  way  : 
And  my  spirit  has  been  dreaming 

Of  a  loner  sta. 


But  this  restless,  high  ambition, 

And  this  hope  sublime, 
May  not  yield  their  full  fruition 

On  the  shore  of  time. 

And  the  lofty  thoughts  aspiring, 

Ranging  unconfined  ; 
And  the  quenchless,  deep  desiring 

Of  the  immortal  mind  — 

Say,  must  these  be  quench'd  forever 

In  an  early  tomb  ? 
They  will  never,  never,  never 

Be  eclipsed  in  gloom. 

Earthly  friends  must  shortly  fail  me, 

Earthly  hopes  must  die, 
But  far  truer  friends  will  hail  me 

In  a  holier  sky. 

Hark  !  that  mystic  voice  is  calling 

Soft  and  low  ; 
Death's  dark  mists  are  round  me  falling  — 

I  must  go  ! 


THE    DARKNESS    OF    GRIEF.  167 


THE  FAREWELL. 

Go — may  Israel's  God  protect  tliee, 
Mid  the  dangers  of  thy  way ! 

Go — may  angel  guides  direct  thee, 
Wheresoe'er  thy  footsteps  stray ! 

Go — may  Jesus'  arm  be  round  thee, 
May  his  strength  still  be  thine  own  ! 

Go — may  the  sweet  ties  that  bound  thee, 
Draw  thee  closer  to  his  throne ! 

Go — may  angel  wings  be  o'er  thee, 
And  their  brightness  on  thy  brow ! 

Go — the  Spirit  go  before  thee, 

With  the  light  which  cheers  thee  now ! 

Go — th'  Almighty's  arms  enfold  thee, 
And  his  grace  to  thee  be  given ! 

Go— I  shall,  I  shall  behold  thee 
Once  again  in  earth,  or  heaven ! 

THE  DARKNESS  OF  GRIEF. 

"  Stie  goeth  unto  tJte  grave  to  iccep  there."— The  Bible. 

I  saw  her  kneel  beside  a  grave, 

Where  the  fresh  earth  was  strown : 

Twas  at  the  stilly  hour  of  eve, 
When  the  rich  sunset  shone — 


168     SOMGa  FROM  THE  bl.  LA  WHENCE. 

Shone  calmly  from  the  crimson  west, 

In  floods  of  pleasing  light ; 
But  ah  !  it  stream'd  upon  a  breast, 

That  mov'd  not  at  the  sight. 

No  secret  charm  her  spirit  caught 

From  the  mild  beaming  sky ; 
And  the  soft  breeze,  with  odours  fraught, 

Awaken'd  but  a  sigh. 
The  flower,  hi  whose  unfolding  cup 

The  tear  drops  fell  like  rain, 
From  the  green  sod  look'd  calmly  up, 

To  claim  one  glance  in  vain. 

How  dark,  thought  I,  must  be  the  grief, 

Which  veils  e'en  nature's  charm  ! 
When  wind,  and  sky,  and  verdant  leaf, 

And  the  bright  sunset  calm, 
No  more  can  wake  the  echoing  chords 

Within  the  human  breast, — 
Ere  such  a  grief  shall  veil  my  soul, 

0,  let  me  be  at  rest ! 


TO  MARIANNE. 
Sister,  as  the  clouds  of  even 

Float  along  the  western  sky, 
And  the  countless  stars  of  heaven 

Lift  their  glimm'ring  tapers  high  : 


ADHLIA.  169 

Dost  thou  think  of  bright  immortals, 

Past  into  the  spirit  land  ? 
Dost  thou,  through  its  dazzling  portals, 

See  the  white  rob'd  millions  stand  ? 

O  !  'tis  sweet,  as  shades  are  stealing 

O'er  the  earth  and  o'er  the  sky — 
All  those  splendid  orbs  revealing. 

Which  bestud  the  arch  on  high ; 
It  is  sweet  then  to  be  dreaming 

Of  that  fairer,  holier  clime, 
Whose  immortal  light  is  streaming 

O'er  the  shadowy  bounds  of  time. 

It  is  well,  when  we  are  weary, 

That  the  power  to  us  is  given, 
To  look  up,  through  shadows  dreary, 

To  the  blessed  clime  of  heaven. 
Let  us  live,  so  live,  that  ever 

Heaven's  bright  gates  may  be  in  view, 
And,  when  life's  worn  bands  may  sever, 

We  shall  pass  triumphant  through. 

1848. 

ADEL1A. 

She  died  as  the  first  violets  wak'd  to  life, 
While  woods  with  Spring  notes  ringing, 
And  brooklets  wildly  singing, 

Made  all  with  beauty,  joy,  and  music  rife. 


170  £>ONt.6   FKOM    lliii    fc'l.    LAWKENCiS. 

She  died,  the  fairest  flow'r  that  op'd  to  day, 
Died  in  the  spring  time's  brightness, 
Died  in  her  young  heart's  lightness, 

While  all  conspir'd  to  ask  her  longer  stay. 

When  parent  hearts  their  richest  benison  gave, 
Their  fondness  lavished  o'er  her, 
And  strew'd  the  way  before  her 

With  flowers  which  since  have  perish'd  on  her 
grave. 

How  sad  to  see  the  young  buds  early  droop, 

And  pale  before  us  lying, 

In  all  their  fragrance  dying — 
The  buds  of  intellect,  the  germs  of  hope  ! 

But  sadder  far  'twould  be,  if  no  bright  ray, 

From  yonder  gates  of  light, 

Stream'd  to  our  anxious  sight, 
Turning  our  tho'ts  from  Time's  dark  shore  away. 

0  !  ye,  who  mourn  for  fair  Adelia  gone, 
Whose  hearts  with  pain  are  riven, 
Look  up  to  yon  bright  heaven — 

There  lives  in  fadeless  light  your  darling  one ! 

Be  it  your  highest  care  to  find  the  road 
To  her  sweet  home  of  gladness, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  sadnrss, 

And  she  will  hail  vou  to  her  blest  abode! 


BE   OF   GOOD   CHEEK.  171 

BE  OF  GOOD  CHEER, 

"  Be  of  good  cheer :  I  have  overcome  the  world."  John  xvi,  33. 

Cheer  up,  my  followers  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
Ye  with  crush'd  hearts,  and  step  desponding 
slow ; 

Behold,  the  day-star  in  your  sky  appears, 
And  morn  has  dawn'd  upon  your  night  of  woe. 

Dread  dangers  will  bestrew  your  pathway  here, 
And  trials  dark,  and  intricate,  and  blind ; 

And  ye  will  oft,  amid  your  doubt  and  fear, 
Scarce  venture  on  the  narrow  way  to  find. 

Clouds  of  dismay  may  thicken  o'er  your  path, 
And  demon  voices  haunt  you  midst  the  gloom ; 

The  world  and  sin  oppose  with  fiery  wrath, 
And  darkness  dense  seem  gathering  round  the 
tomb. 

Yet  bear  in  mind,  I  've  overcome  them  all, — 
I,  your  Redeemer,  and  your  Friend,  and  Guide : 

Before  my  mighty  arm  each  foe  must  fall, 
And  o'er  the  world   thou   may'st  victorious 
ride. 

I  overcame  the  tempter's  wily  power, 
I  triumph'd  over  sin,  and  earth,  and  hell ! 

Yea,  more  than  conqueror — in  one  awful  hour 
The  massive  bars  of  death  before  me  fell. 


17*2  fcONGS   FKOM«1'11£    1ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Then  let  your  hearts  be  cheerful  as  ye  tread 
The  narrow  way,  and  bear  the  piercing  blast ; 

For  sure  as  your  Redeemer  groan' d  and  bled, 
So  sure  shall  ye  o'ercome  the  world  at  last. 

M.  W.  S. 

There  was  a  voice  so  sweet, 
A  smile  so  bright  around  that  hearth, 
That  angels  from  their  blissful  seat 

Sped  down  to  earth ; 

Watch'd  o'er  her  dreams  awhile, 
Shadow'd  her  brow  with  wings  of  love, 
Then  flew,  with  the  pure,  lovely  child, 

To  realms  above. 

They  saw  the  flower  was  frail, 
And  that  the  world  was  sterile,  bleak ; 
They  took  it  ere  a  piercing  gale 

Should  blanch  its  cheek. 

Ye,  who  have  mourn'd  the  child, 
Ye,  from  whose  eye  the  sad  tear  starts, 
Be  thankful  that  she  ever  smil'd 

Upon  your  hearts. 

Think  ye  have  rear'd  a  flower 
Too  purely  beautiful  to  s#(:iy  ; 
A  plant  which  blooms  in  Heaven's  high  bower, 

Beyond  decay ! 


SEND  ME  THAT   FLOWER.  173 

UNSPOKEN  GRATITUDE. 

SHE  did  not  speak  her  gratitude, 

But,  with  a  tearful  eye, 
Press'd  her  warm,  glowing  lips  to  mine 

In  grateful  fervency. 

She  laid  her  hand  confidingly 

And  gently  in  my  own ; 
Her  blue  eyes  spoke  thro'  glist'ning  tears — 

How  eloquent  their  tone ! 

I  understood  their  import  deep, 
Their  magic  struck  my  heart ! 

The  gratitude  which  glows  so  warm, 
Disdains  the  words  of  art. 

0,  Father !  shall  a  creature  come 

With  grateful  tears  to  me, 
And  I  neglect  to  offer  up 

My  gratitude  to  thee  ? 

1345. 

SEND  ME  THAT  FLOWER. 

SEND  me  that  long-promised  flower 
From  thy  forest  home  in  that  westeni  glade : 
Aye,  send  me  one  that  has  grown  in  the  shade, 
Where,  in  musing,  thy  footsteps  have  often  stray'd, 
And  where  in  gladness  thy  children  have  play'd 

At  the  beautiful  twilight  hour. 


174  SONGS   FROM   THE   ST.  LAWRENCE. 

And  what  though  it  fade  on  the  way? 
It  will  be  the  same  flower  that  so  sweetly  sprung 
Thine  own  green  valleys  and  woods  among, 
Where  the  western  birds  their  wild  notes  sung, 
And  the  wilder  laugh  of  thy  children  rung,      • 

From  morn  till  the  close  of  day. 

I  will  gaze  on  the  faded  leaf, 
And  think  of  the  loved  who  so  early  died, 
And  others  now  wandering  far  and  wide ; 
I  will  think  of  the  place  wrhere,  side  by  side, 
We  witnessed  the  rapid  moments  glide — 

0,  were  they  not  far  too  brief ! 

I  will  think  of  the  days  that  are  gone ; 
I  will  think  of  the  flowers  that  you  taught  me  to 

love, 

Of  the  roses  we  gathered,  the  garlands  we  wove, 
Of  the  pathway  thy  footsteps  were  wont  to  rove, 
By  the  garden,  the  streamlet,  the  meadow,  the 

grove — 
That  path  is  deserted  and  lone. 

Thou  knowest  that  death  has  been  here ; 
Then  I  need  not  have  told  thee  our  pathway  was 

lone, 

That  the  wind  wanders  by  with  a  sadder  moan, 
And  that  many  a  smile  and  joyous  tone 
From  our  pensive  hearth  have  forever  gone, 

Which  so  often  our  hearts  used' to  cheer. 


DEW-DROPS.  175 

O  !  then,  let  us  think  of  that  better  land, 
Where  we  '11  meet  the  blest  friends  who  havo 

gone  before 

To  that  happy  home,  on  that  brighter  shore — 
For  these  partings  and  sighings  will  all  be  o'er, 
And  the  blooming  cheek  shall  fade  no  more, 

When  we  greet  that  angel  band  ! 

0  send  me  that  promised  flower 
From  thy  forest  home  in  that  western  glade ! 
But  let  it  be  one  that  bloom'd  in  the  shade 
Where  thou,  in  thy  musings,  hast  often  stray'd, 
And  where  in  their  gladness  thy  children  play'd 

At  the  beautiful  twilight  hour. 

1844. 

DEW-DROPS. 
WE  have  fallen  on  the  green  sward, 

Where  the  happy  children  play, 
Where  their  feet,  in  sportive  gladness, 

Early  shook  our  pearls  away. 

We  have  lain  upon  the  blossoms 
When  they  gather'd  them  at  morn  ; 

We  have  kept  them  bright  and  glowing, 
Some  sweet  bosom  to  adorn. 

We  have  glisten'd  at  the  bridal 
With  the  brilliant  and  the  fair ; 

When  the  solemn  vow  was  utter'd, 
We  were  faintly  trembling  there. 


170  SONGS    KKMNT    Jill;   .-I.    I..VWRENCK 

We  have  gleam'd  upon  the  roses, 
In  their  sweetest  fragrance  spread, 

By  the  hand  of  pure  affection, 
On  the  bosom  of  the  dead. 

Ye  have  seen  us,  changed  to  vapour, 
Soft  on  airy  pinions  roam — 

Floating,  like  a  gauze  of  silver, 

Through  the  bright,  cerulean  dome. 

"We  have  glitter'd  high  in  heaven, 
In  the  rainbow's  arch  divine — 

In  the  saddest  place,  and  brightest, 
We  are  ever  seen  to  shine. 


FOKEST   MELODIES. 


CONTENTS. 


The  Tearful  Bride Page  183 

A  Remembrance 186 

A  Wife  to  her  Absent  Husband 191 

I  think  of  Heaven 192 

Rustling  Leaves 194 

To  Aurelia 195 

The  Slave 196 

The  Bereaved  One 198 

A  Death-Bed  Scene 200 

Happiness 201 

The  Early  Blest 202 

I  will  come  to  Thee  then 205 

Remember  Me 206 

Spring 207 

Little  Eugene 209 

The  Night-Flower 210 

Mary 211 

July  Fourth 213 

The  Rainbow 214 

Our  Mother 215 

Mary  Stodard 216 

A  Thought 218 

One  Year  Ago 218 

Autumn 219 

Farewell  to  Home 221 

"  Is  it  well  with  the  Child  ?" 222 

The  Two  Sisters 224 

Sunshine 225 

A  Fallen  Friend 227 

While  the  Stars  are  glowing 228 

The  Disconsolate  Husband 229 

To  a  Sister  in  the  Far  West 230 

To  October 232 

"  My  Flesh  shall  rest  in  Hope  " 233 

The  Land  of  Rest 233 

Hope 235 

A  Sacred  Relic 236 


180  CONTENTS. 

Autumn  Flowers Page  237 

The  Portrait 238 

The  Sea-Shell 239 

I  would  not  stay 239 

The  Ringlet 242 

My  Sister 244 

Confidence  in  God -45 

Subrina 246 

Autumn's  Lament 247 

The  Old  Man's  Answer 248 

On  receiving  a  Geranium 250 

Last  Words  of  Theron 251 

A  Cause  for  Sadness 254 

Hour  of  Sunrise 256 

Voice  of  the  Old  Clock 257 

A  Vision 259 

The  Disappointed 262 

To  My  Husband 264 

The  Wish  of  a  Friend 265 

An  Exotic 206 

Connubial  Love 268 

The  Early  Dead L'Tu 

What  I  love 271 

Borrow 272 

Where  is  My  Mother?  273 

Augusta 274 

The  Motherless  Child 275 

The  Old  Man's  Tears 277 

Let  Me  go 279 

A  Beautiful  Thought 280 

A  Strange  Wish 281 

Separation 282 

Wood-Notes  Wild 284 

The  Memory  of  the  Dead 285 

To  a  Friend,  who  gave  the  Author  a  Book  of  Poems 286 

My  Tree  has  fallen 287 

Sunrise 290 

The  Happiest  Spot 290 

Come,  Beautiful  Spring 291 

My  Sleeping  Babe 292 

Those  Evening  Bells 294 

A  Divine  Promise 295 

To  Winter 297 

Other  Days 298 

This  World  of  Ours 299 

True  Friendship 301 

The  Drunkard's  Child 302 

Forebodings 303 

A  Lady  to  her  Husband 305 

Dreams 306 

The  Unseen  World 307 

My  Father  has  come 3C 


CONTENTS.  181 

The  Awakening Page  309 

To  Theophilus 310 

The  Young  Widow 311 

Jesus  smiles 313 

The  Dying  Saint 314 

Pray  for  Me 315 

The  Earnest  of  Our  Inheritance 316 

A  Change 317 

To  Mrs.  Mary  Giffin 319 

Come,  let  us  go  to  Heaven 321 

A  Cradle  Song 322 

My  Three  Homes 324 

Rejoice  in  the  Lord  always 325 

The  Dying  Mother 325 

Spring  hath  a  teaching  Voice 327 

Weep  not 328 

The  Departed  Year 329 

In  a  Lone  Cottage 831 

To  My  Twin  Daughters 832 

The  Eose-Bnsh 333 

A  Letter 835 

Winter 336 

Psalm  xci,  11 337 

We  rambled  through  the  Wood 338 

Elizabeth 839 

Memory 340 

As  I  watch  the  Light 341 

The  Young  Itinerant 342 

Youthful  Piety 344 

Unseen  Spirits 345 

Who  are  the  Happy? 346 

An  Aged  Missionary 347 

Pleadings  with  Death 349 

Mrs.  S.  Judson,  Ac 352 

On  receiving  a  Card,  &c 853 

Lights  and  Shadows  of  Itinerancy 354 

To  Mrs.  Lucia  Stratton 356 

Thoughts  on  Theron 359 

The  Wintry  Winds 361 

The  Gem  of  Meekness 362 

Contentment 863 

This  is  not  My  Rest 364 

The  Child  and  the  Flowers 865 

"  It  is  well  that  it  died  " 366 

Voices  of  Autumn 368 

Rachel 868 

My  New  Home 869 

To  Rev.  WT.  Tripp 370 

Beauty  everywhere 372 

The  Lost  One 373 

Baptism  of  Two  Infants 874 

The  Realm  of  Fancy 875 


182  CONTENTS. 

A  Bride's  Greeting,  <ic Page  376 

The  Youthful  Mother 377 

Lament  of  a  Child,  Ac 379 

To  Amanda 380 

Deathless  Affection 381 

Summer  has  flown 382 

Childhood's  Affection 384 

The  Donation  Visit 385 

The  Weeping  Child 387 

The  Parting  Hour 388 

The  Wild  liose 389 

Musings 391 

The  Orphan  Girl 392 

The  Infidel 393 

Evening  Prayer 895 

A  Rich  Legacy 395 

Alma  to  Her  Husband 396 

My  Sabbath-school  Class 397 

Life  is  Transient 398 

A  Shadow 398 

An  Epitaph 308 

The  Open  Air 399 

A  Dream  of  the  Dead .199 


FOREST  MELODIES. 


THE  TEARFUL  BRIDE. 

THEY  leave  that  scene  of  merriment, 

And  wander  slow  away, 
In  the  path  the  mourner  treads 

At  the  closing  hour  of  day  : 
The  laugh  of  gushing  gladness 

Is  hush'd  in  silence  now, 
And  a  shade  of  deepest  sadness 

Has  fallen  on  each  brow. 

How  strange  to  see  that  happy  throng, 

With  thoughtful  footsteps  leave, 
That  festive  board,  where  all  is  joy 

On  this  sweet  bridal  eve ; 
To  wander  in  this  lonely  place, 

The  saddest  spot  on  earth, 
Amid  its  deep  solemnities 

Forgetting  all  their  mirth ' 


184  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Say,  wherefore  do  ye  wander  here, 

Ye  beautiful  and  gay, 
Musing  in  silence  o'er  the  graves 

On  this  glad  festive  day  ? 
Thou  charmer  of  that  trusting  heart, 

What  sorrow  bows  thy  head  ? 
Why  lead  that  young  and  lovely  bride 

To  weep  above  the  dead  ? 

And  thou,  sweet  bride,  in  this  attire, 

In  such  a  place  as  this — 
Why  is  the  heart  that  beat  so  high 

AVith  hopes  of  earthly  bliss, 
Now  press'd  with  all  its  fervency 

Against  that  sculptur'd  stone  ? 
Why  is  the  tear  upon  thy  cheek, 

Thou  newly- wedded  one  ? 

Gladness  and  grief  are  mingled  here, 

My  own,  my  early  friend, 
For  on  thy  blushing  cheek  I  see 

The  smiles  and  tear-drops  blend ! 
Ah,  thou  art  passing  from  us  now ! 

Before  to-morrow's  sun, 
Thou'lt  leave  thy  home  to  wander  far 

Beside  thy  chosen  one. 

Yes,  even  now  thy  parting  kiss 
Is  warm  upon  my  check. 


THE  TEARFUL  BRIDE.  185 

And  at  my  heart  a  farewell  throb, 
Which  language  may  not  speak ! 

Adieu,  my  friend !  a  long  adieu 
I  sigh  amidst  the  gloom, 

Which  gathers  fast  around  us  here 
Beside  thy  mother's  tomb. 

Go,  mourner  now !  go,  tearful  bride ! 

Go,  leave  this  hallo  w'd  spot ! 
And  may  the  lesson  learn'd  to-night 

Be  never  more  forgot ! 
Ah,  go !  I  would  not  see  thee  sad — 

Why  longer  tarry  here  ? 
Thy  bridal  evening  should  be  glad, 

Unmark'd  by  one  sad  tear. 

But  pause,  and  hang  thy  chaplet  first 

Upon  thy  mother's  tomb, 
Thy  bridal  crown  of  sweetest  flowers, 

Thy  wreath  of  blushing  bloom, 
To  wither  here,  though  now  its  leaves 

Are  beautiful  and  bright ; 
Sad  emblems  of  thy  youthful  hopes, 

That  bloom  so  fresh  to-night ! 

Pass  on,  ye  bridal  train,  pass  on ! 

In  quick  procession  move, 
And  while  through  scenes  of  future  life 

Your  doubtful  footsteps  rove, 


186  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Fond  Mem'ry  oft  shall  lure  you  back 
With  all  her  thrilling  power, 

And  ye  will  think  of  this  lone  walk 
At  twilight's  sacred  hour. 


A   REMEMBRANCE. 

T  was  such  a  morn  as  this,  an  autumn  morn, 

Mild  and  serene ; 
The  fields  were  laden  with  ungathered  corn, 

And  there  was  seen 
A  joyous  group  of  children  on  the  green. 

I  was  among  them  then,  a  laughing  child ; 

Well  I  remember 
The  pensive  sadness,  and  the  chasten'd  smile 

Of  sweet  September, 
And  the  green  forests  ting'd  with  glower  amber 

We  were  about  departing  for  the  wood, 

Where  brown  nuts  fall ; 
But  in  a  happy  circle  still  we  stood, 

Contented  all, 
List'ning  to  one  whose  image  I  recall. 

He  was  a  gray-hair'd  man,  with  solemn  tread, 
ovn ; 


A  REMEMBRANCE.  187 

As  we  drew  round  him  where  an  old  oak  spread 

Its  arms  on  high, 
He  bade  us  list  a  tale  of  years  gone  by. 

"  Brightly  like  yours,"  he  said,  "  my  early  days 

Pass'd  swiftly  on ; 

Hope,  hope  was  mingling  with  the  prosperous 
rays 

Which  round  me  shone, 
But  now  I  am  a  wand'rer,  wretched,  lone. 

"  At  manhood's  dawn  I  left  my  peaceful  home, 

My  father's  hearth, 
A  restless  wand'rer  after  wealth  to  roam 

O'er  half  the  earth, 
Deeming  home's  quiet  scenes  of  little  worth. 

"  How  well  I  recollect  the  panting  strife 

Of  my  young  heart, 
The  wish  to  mingle  in  the  storm  of  life, 

The  busy  mart, 
Resolv'd  on  mammon's  stage  to  act  my  part. 

"  How  perfectly  do  I  remember  too 

That  mild,  sweet  eve, 
When,  with  ambition  burning  on  my  brow, 

I  took  my  leave 

Of   that    calm    home,   nor    even    thought   to 
grieve. 


188  FOREST    MELODIES. 

"  Well  I  remember  too  my  white-hair'd  sire, 

And  tender  mother, 
Gather'd  that  evening  round  the  parlor  fire, 

With  sister,  brother — 
Names  dearer  to  this  heart  than  any  other. 

"And  the  sweet   woodbine  twining  round  the 

porch — 
I  see  it  now, 
As  when  I  pass'd  the  elm,  and  tassel'd  birch, 

At  sunset's  glow, 

Which  gleam'd  in  brightness  on  those  walls  of 
snow. 

"  I  hid  the  sweetness  of  the.  farewell  scene, 

Deep  in  my  heart, 
Bade  home's  soft  quiet,  and  its  walks  serene, 

All,  all  depart ; 
But  tears  of  sorrow  had  no  time  to  start. 

"  And  then  for  wealth  in  other  climes  afar 

Restless  I  sought : 

Wealth,  useless    wealth — it   was   my    guiding 
star; 

I  little  thought 
How  cursed  is  the  gold  unfairly  bought. 

"  At  length  I  found  myself  possess'd  of  all 
Which  most  men  prize, 


A    UEMEMBKANUJS.  189 

Fortune  and  friends  were  my  defensive  wall, 

And  both  the  wise 
And  ignorant  did  laud  me  to  the  skies. 

"  Still,  still  I  was  unhappy  with  the  same 

Deep,  restless  heart ; 
A  wild  ambition  no  success  could  tame 

Would  make  me  start 

With    fearful    thoughts,    and    bid    my    peace 
depart. 

"  At  length,  a  guilty  wretch,  I  cross'd  the  seas ; 

With  frenzied  brain, 
And  fiery  impulse,  chasten'd  by  disease, 

Subdued  by  pain, 
I  sought  the  homestead  of  my  youth  again. 

"  I  thought  to  hide  me  in  its  quiet  shade 

From  every  care, 
And  find  the  peace,  which,  when  a  child  I  play'd, 

Seem'd  resting  there, 
On  all  its  scenery,  and  its  walks  so  fair. 

"  I  thought  once  more  the  beauteous  links  to 
bind 

Of  friendship,  love, 
Which  I  had  broken  from  my  worthless  mind 

When  first  I  rov'd, 
Ere  half  this  sacred  tenderness  I  prov'd. 


190  FOREST    MELODIES. 

"That  home — its  whiten'd   turrets   look'd  the 

same, 

But  what  a  change 
Had  pass'd  across  its  threshold  when  I  came  ! 

Ah,  faces  strange, 

And    tenants   new   did   through   its    precincts 
range. 

"  Another  hand  train'd  now  my  sister's  flow'rs — 

Alas!  alas! 
How  bitterly  I  thought  of  those  sweet  hours 

Forever  past, 
And  of  her  tears,  and  fond  embrace  the  last. 

"A  mother's  vacant  seat  recall'd  to  mind 

Her  fervent  prayers, 
And  the  lone  wand'rer,  on  that  seat  reclin'd, 

Shed  bitter  tears, 
The  first  for  many  long  and  wretched  years. 

"  A  father's  counsels  sunk  into  my  heart, 

Now,  that  his  tone 
Was  hush'd  forever !    Every  fitful  start 

Of  the  wind's  moan 

Brought  back  the  precepts  long  from  mem'ry 
gone. 

"  The  wand'rer  was  reclaim'd — his  wretched  soul 
Was  then  forgiven ; 


A    WIFE   TO    HER    ABSENT   HUSBAND.         191 

Repentant  tears  did  from  their  fountains  roll, 

When  there  was  given 

This  beam  from  mem'ry's  star,  this  guide  tc 
heaven." 

Here  paus'd  the  old  man — and  a  tremor  shook 

His  feeble  frame ; 
He  added — "  Children,  shun  the  path  I  took, 

The  wish  for  fame  ; 
Quench  at  the  first  ambition's  lurid  flame. 

"  And  would  ye  keep  the  sacred  path  of  peace, 

The  blessed  way, 
Where  comes  no  storm  of  passion  and  distress, 

0 !  never  stray 

From  that  pure  Alight  which  leads  to  realms  of 
day. 

Sept.  13th,  I83T. 


A  WIFE  TO  HER  ABSENT  HUSBAND. 

0,  could  I  meet  thee  again, 

Could  I  mingle  once  more  my  prayers  with 

thine, 
As  our  voices  and  hearts  were  wont  to  blend 

In  communion  all  divine. 

Or,  could  I  walk  by  thy  side,    . 

With  a  hand  in  thine  as  we  used  to  roam, 


192  FOREST  MELODIES. 

At  balmy  mom,  and  at  eventide, 
Conversing  of  days  to  come — 

Or,  could  I  sit  on  thy  knee, 

And  lean  my  head  on  thy  faithful  breast, 
And  hear  that  voice  which  has  music  for  me, 

I  should  be  happy — be  blest. 

Not  long  hast  thou  been  away, 

Yet  I've  counted  the  days,  and  thought  them 

long; 
There  has  been  less  melody  far  for  me, 

In  the  zephyr  and  sweet  bird's  song. 

Less  beauty  too  in  the  sky, 

And  the  blooming  flowers  since  thou  hast 

been  gone, — 
I  shall  watch  for  thee  with  an  anxious  eye, 

My  best,  my  dearest  one. 

June  11th,  1848. 


I  THINK  OF  HEAVEN. 

When  morn  appears,  her  pearly  gates  unclosing, 
Radiant  with  beauty  in  the  orient  sky, 

And  nature,  fresh  and  fair  from  long  reposing,  \ 
Looks  brightly  up  while  lingering  shadows  fly ; 

I  think  of  Heaven — that  clime  of  the  immortal, 
Whose  ceaseless  sunlight  shines  upon  the  blest, 


I  THINK   OF   HEAVEN.  198 

And  almost  catch  from  every  dazzling  portal 
The  glorious  calm  of  an  eternal  rest. 

When   evening    comes,    and   twilight   shadows 

spreading 

Their  sombre  wings,  brood  darkly  in  our  sky, 
And  the  night  air  its  chilly  damps  is  shedding, 
And  the  low  wind  breathes  like  a  plaintive 

sigh ; 

I  think  of  Heaven — that  land  of  shadeless  splen 
dor, 
Where  not  a  night-cloud  gathers  round  the 

heart, 

Where  earth's  cold  chilling  damps  can  never  enter, 
Nor  dismal  sounds  their  loneliness  impart. 

Whene'er  a  prosp'rous  sun  the  spirit  gladdens, 

And  earth  has  charms  my  footsteps  to  insnare, 
When  'mid  the  brightness  there  is  naught  that 
saddens, 

And  all  is  glowing,  beautiful,  and  fair ; 
Thinking  of  Heaven,  I  clasp  this  sacred  treasure, 

This  holy  word,  which  tells  of  future  bliss — 
Of  more  exalted  and  enduring  pleasure 

Than  can  be  found  in  such  a  world  as  this. 

When  those  I  love  with  friendship's  pure  emo 
tion, — 

Those,  for  whose  weal  I  could  with  all  things 
part,-— 

13 


194  FOREST   MELODIES. 

When  such  friends  question  this  fond  heart's  de 
votion, 

And  coldness  seems  to  gather  round  the  heart ; 
I  think  of  Heaven — and  with  a  faint,  sick  feeling, 

Loathing  all  earthly  things,  I  turn  away ; 
Then  a  sweet  rapture,  through  ray  bosom  stealing, 

Seems  like  the  mom-break  of  eternal  day. 

0 !  in  that  clime,  for  which  my  soul  is  sighing, 

I  shall  be  known  as  I  am  known  of  God ; 
And  shall  be  loved  too  with  a  love  undying, 

Where  disappointment  never  can  corrode ! 
Fain  would  my  spirit  spread  her  drooping  pinions, 

Fly  through  the  clouds  of  death  to  that  blest 

shore ; 
Escape  the  blighting  of  Time's  dark  dominions, 

And  dwell  where  grief  should  never  reach  me 
more. 

1851. 

RUSTLING  LEAVES- 

Rustling  leaves !  ye  have  a  tone, 
Have  a  language  all  your  own : 
Now  I  hear  you  sadly  say — 
"  We  have  bloom'd  but  to  decay" 

When  the  cold  November's  blast, 
Fiercely  breathing,  hurries  past, — 
Then  you  '11  whisper,  with  a  sigh, 
"  All,  like  us,  must  fade  and  die" 


1848. 


TO  AURELIA.  195 


TO  AURELIA. 

Think  of  me  when  round  the  dawning- 

Softly  shines  the  light  of  day, 
When  the  dewdrops  of  the  morning 

Glisten  thick  on  bud  and  spray. 
Think  of  me  when  sunset  glowing 

Crimsons  all  the  western  sky, 
When  the  evening  gales  are  blowing 

Freshly  where  the  young  leaves  sigh 

Think  of  me  when  flowers  I've  tended, 
In  my  absence,  ask  thy  care, 

When  the  rural  paths  I've  wended 
Lie  before  thee  fresh  and  fair. 

Think  of  me — I  ask  it  weeping 

As  I  sit  and  muse  alone  ; 
Pensive  gloom  is  o'er  me  creeping 

As  I  list  the  zephyr's  moan. 

Think  of  me,  but  not  as  tearful, 
With  a  cloud  upon  my  brow  ! 

I  am  happy,  I  am  cheerful, 

For  my  gloom  has  vanish'd  now. 

Think  of  me  as  when  I  parted 
From  my  early  home  away, — 

Just  as  happy,  and  light-hearted, 
As  upon  my  bridal  day. 


196  FOREST  MELODIES. 


THE  SLAVE. 

The  day  look'd  dim  upon  Potomac's  breast, 
When  a  lone  being  sat  him  down  to  rest 
Beside  the  sparkling  waters :  nature  smiled, 
But  not  for  him — he  was  misfortune's  child. 
Rich  were  the  flowers  that  shed  their  perfume 

there, 

Mild  were  the  skies  and  soft  the  balmy  air ; 
But  that  worn  spirit  saw  no  beauteous  ray 
In  all  the  brightness  round  his  weary  way. 
Raising  his  dark  brow  toward  the  eastern  sky, 
He  pour'd  out  thus  his  secret  agony : — 

"  Ah !  was  I  form'd  to  be  oppress'd, 

Though  all  around  is  free  ? 
The  sky-lark,  on  his  airy  wing, 

The  happy,  murm'ring  bee — 
All  living  things  in  earth  or  sky, 

Have  freedom  for  their  dower ; 
But  I,  alas !  poor,  wretched  I, 

Must  feel  the'  oppressor's  power. 

"  Well  knows  that  tyrant,  that  my  soul 
Has  powers  and  rights  like  his, 

Though  writhing  on  the  lance  of  woe, 
And  pining  after  bliss. 


THE  SLAVE.  197 

His  efforts,  all  his  efforts  fail 

These  chainless  thoughts  to  bind, 

Or  fetter  the  intense  desires 
Of  an  immortal  mind. 

"  But  mind  itself  is  only  free 

To  tell  me  of  my  fate, 
While  I  am  chain'd  to  servitude 

And  wholly  desolate. 
My  God,  I  look  above,  around — 

No  gleam  of  hope  I  see, 
Save  the  faint  whisper  of  my  soul 

That  DEATH  shall  set  me  free !" 

He  ceased ;  and  still  upon  the  stream  there  lay 
The  same  soft  glories  of  departing  day, 
The  earth  was  radiant  with  the  same  rich  smile, 
The  stars  look'd  down  serenely,  softly  mild, 
Yet  he  pass'd  on  through  shadows  dark  and 

dim — 

Nature  could  yield  no  happiness  to  him. 
Shall  man  refuse  the  sympathizing  heart — 
Refuse  the  aid  he  can  so  well  impart  ? 
My  country !  why  do  not  Heaven's  curses  rest 
With  fearful  blackness  on  thy  guilty  breast  ? 


198  FOREST  MELODIES. 


THE  BEREAVED  ONE. 

The  rose  was  softly  shining 

Through  dewy  tears  of  night, 
And  the  old  willow  branches 

Were  waving  fresh  and  bright, 
When  the  first  sun  rays  streaming 

Enliven'd  that  dear  spot, 
Where  grew  on  one  lone  hillock 

The  pale  Forget-me-not. 

There  came  a  gentle  being 

With  morning's  earliest  smile, 
And  knelt  in  mournful  silence 

Above  her  sleeping  child  ! 
A  tear,  fresh  from  her  eyelid, 

Lay  on  her  cheek  at  rest ; 
And  one  deep  sigh  was  struggling 

Within  her  heaving  breast. 

She  clasp'd  her  hands  in  anguish, 

And  cried  in  tones  most  wild, 
"  Where  aft  thou,  0  my  cherub ! 

"  My  child— my  angel  child !" 
And,  when  her  tongue  was  silent, 

There  stream'd  a  tearful  flood, 
But  in  submissive  meekness 

She  bow'd  to  kiss  the  rod. 


THE  BEREAVED   ONE.  199 

Oft  as  the  morning  breezes 

Went  sadly  moaning  by ; 
Oft  as  the  stars  of  evening 

Look'd  coldly  from  the  sky ; 
Day  after  day  we  saw  her, 

Clad  in  a  garb  of  woe, 
Approaching  that  lone  hillock 

And  meekly  kneeling  low. 

At  length  they  bore  her  slowly, 

When  Spring  was  on  the  lea, 
And  made  her  lonely  pillow 

Beneath  that  willow  tree : 
Where  she,  in  heart  devotedness, 

So  fervently  had  pray'd, 
Near  the  tomb  she  call'd  an  altar, 

That  mother  now  is  laid. 

No  more  with  day-light's  dawning 

Her  faded  form  is  seen, 
Nor  when  the  dusk  of  evening 

Hangs  dimly  o'er  the  green ; 
But  there,  amid  the  roses, 

Where  dewy  branches  weep, 
There,  THERE,  the  lone,  bereaved  one 

Now  shares  her  infant's  sleep ! 


200  FOREST  MELODIES. 


A  DEATH-BED  SCENE. 

Weary  -with  watching  I  had  sunk  to  rest, 
As  the  last  star  grew  dim  on  morning's  breast 

And  darkness  fled, —  . 

To  rest,  I  say !  nay,  'twas  the  troubled  sleep 
Of  a  brief  hour  when  eyes  forgot  to  weep, 

And  hearts  that  bled 
Lost  in  oblivion  every  real  woe, 
Yet  keenly  felt  the  winds  of  fancy  blow. 

My  sleep  was  broken  by  a  voice  that  said — 
"Your  brother's  dying — hasten  to  his  bed!" 

A  moment  more — 

I  bent  above  him  with  a  stifled  breath ! 
How  pale — serene !    0  God !   could  this  be 
death  ? 

Never  before 

Had  I  seen  one  so  beautiful  and  fair, 
As  that  sweet  dying  brother  smiling  there ! 

In  health  I  deem'd  him  lovely ;  but  that  brow, 
Turn'd  to  a  marble  whiteness,  glisten'd  now 

With  rays  of  peace 
And  those   dark   eyes — within  their  bright 

depths  burn'd 
Something  unearthly,  as  they  fondly  turn'd 

From  face  to  face, 


HAPPINESS.  201 

With  the  last  counsel  and  the  fond  farewell, 
Which  long  in  memory's  magic  ear  shall  dwell. 

0  what  an  hour !    0,  what  a  gloomy  morn ! 

1  never  wept  so  utterly  forlorn, 

As  when  I  heard, 

For  the  last  time,  that  brother  call  my  name — 
That  fearful  hour  like  some  wild  vision  came  ; 

That  parting  word, 

Sharp  as  an  arrow,  pierced  my  inmost  soul, 
Bidding  affection's  fountains  freely  roll. 

A  message  was  despatch'd  to  one  whose  name 
Was  on  those  dying  lips  ;  but  when  he  came 

They  could  not  speak : 
Raising  his  hand  he  pointed  upward  far, — 
That  look ! — it  seem'd  to  say,  "  0,  meet  me 
there!" 

Then  quiet,  meek, 

Those  eyelids  dropp'd  to  their  profound  repose, 
For  death  had  seal'd  them,  never  to  unclose. 


HAPPINESS. 

Seekest  thou  for  happiness  ? 

Haste  thee  to  the  mercy-seat : 
Thou  shalt  surely  find  it  there, 

At  the  great  Redeemer's  feet. 


202  FOREST   MELODIES. 


THE  EARLY  BLEST. 

They  raised  her  faint  and  languid  head, 

Just  as  the  rising  sun 
Its  first  bright  beams  of  beauty  shed 

Around  the  dying  one. 
Back  from  her  white  and  glist'ning  brow 

The  bright,  damp  ringlets  lay ; 
And  in  her  eyes  of  tranquil  blue 

Gleam'd  an  unearthly  ray. 
Consumption's  glow  was  on  her  cheek, 

Its  seal  of  fearful  red, 
When,  in  a  voice  whose  tones  were  weak 

And  tremulous,  she  said : — 

"  Ere  yonder  morning  sun  shall  hide 

Its  brightness  in  the  west, 
I  shall  have  pass'd  the  rolling  tide, 

And  found  eternal  rest. 
The  sad  vicissitudes  of  life 

Will  with  your  child  be  o'er, 
And  earth's  o'erburd'ning  weariness 

Oppress  her  heart  no  more. 

"  Thou  thinkest  strange  that  earthly  ills 
Can  blight  a  heart  so  young, 

Knowing  their  mists  have  fallen  light 
Upon  thy  darling  one ; 


THE   EARLY    BLEST.  203 

But  dost  not  know  the  weakness  of 

My  spirit  to  endure, 
Nor  canst  thou  know  my  yearnings  for 

A  breath  more  free  and  pure. 

"  Thou  hast  been  witness,  mother  dear, 

E'en  from  my  earliest  years, 
To  the  sudden  gush  of  sunshine, 

And  frequent  showers  of  tears ; 
But  hast  not  known  how  painfully 

I  view'd  the  heartless  strife, 
And  cank'ring  cares,  which  seem'd  to  lie 

Along  my  path  of  life. 

"  Thou  hast  not  known  the  thoughts  opprest, 

Which  struggled  to  be  free, 
The  longings  burning  in  my  breast 

With  such  intensity : 
My  heart  was  like  the  aspen  leaf, 

That  quivers  in  the  breeze, 
Which  scarcely  stirs  the  foliage 

Of  the  surrounding  trees. 

"  I  have  not  miss'd  one  ray  of  hope, 

One  gush  of  earthly  joy  ; 
I  have  not  lost  one  thrilling  note 

Of  nature's  minstrelsy ; 
And  not  one  beam  of  loveliness 

From  the  bright  sky  has  fled, — 


204  FOREST  MELODIES. 

All,  all  its  former  radiance 
Streams  o'er  my  dying  bed. 

"  But  0  !  too  deep  the  swelling  bliss, 

Which  rises  in  my  heart ; 
Too  deep  for  such  a  life  as  this, 

And  I  must  soon  depart ! 
Intense  desires  are  burning  high, 

And  soaring  heavenward  now, 
While  the  cold  dews  of  life's  last  morn 

Are  gath'ring  on  my  brow. 

"  A  few  short  hours,  and  this  freed  soul 

Shall  mount  up  unconfined, 
For  0 !  there  is  a  wider  range 

For  the  immortal  mind ! 
Then,  mother,  let  no  tears  be  shed 

When  I  am  gone  to  rest ; 
Remember  me  as  one  of  those 

They  call  The  Early  Blest.'" 

That  night  the  glowing  sunset  fell 

Most  radiantly  bright, 
But  one  deep  heart  had  ceased  to  thrill 

As  once  beneath  its  light ; 
And  soon  amid  the  starry  host 

The  moon  shone  out  on  high, 
But  the  bright  star  which  earth  had  lost 

Burn'd  in  its  native  sky. 

1840. 


I   WILL   COME   TO    THEE   THEN.  205 


I  WILL  COME  TO  THEE  THEN. 

"  If  I  am  the  survivor,  your  spirit  must  come  to  me  at 
the  hour  we  have  appointed  for  prayer." 

I  will  come  to  thee  then  at  that  beautiful  hour, 
When  the  first  star  of  even  shines  forth  ; 

When  Darkness  spreads,  with  mysterious  power, 
Her  silent  wing  over  the  earth. 

I  will  come  to  thee  then,  to  the  sacred  retreat, 
Where  thou  kneelest  all  sad  and  alone ; 

I  will  cling  to  the  heart  that  continues  to  beat, 
Though  it  feel  not  the  throbs  of  my  own. 

I  will  come  to  thee  then — thou  shalt  know  I  am 

near, 

Though  thou  canst  not  my  features  behold ; 
I  will  whisper  some  thought  of  the  past  in  thine 

ear, 
Thou  shalt  know  'tis  the  friend  of  thy  soul. 

I  will  come  to  thee  then — though  they  count 
not  the  hours 

In  that  beautiful  world  of  bliss  ; 
I  shall  know  the  time,  when  these  spirits  of  ours 

Held  sweetest  communion  in  this. 

I  will  come  to  thee  then,  with  a  message  from 

heaven ; 
For  God  will  permit  me  to  bear 


206  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Some  cheering  hope  to  thy  pilgrimage  given, 
A  promise,  an  answer  to  prayer. 

I  will  come  to  thee  then — I  will  cling  to  that 
heart 

Which  has  trembled  so  true  to  my  own ; 
The  blessed  Redeemer  his  love  shall  impart, 

And  whisper  again,  "Ye  are  one." 


REMEMBER  ME. 

When  amid  scenes  of  busy  life 

Thy  gladsome  footsteps  roam, 
When  thy  affections  cluster  round 

A  new  and  happy  home, 
Wilt  thou  remember  sometimes  then 

The  bright  and  blissful  hours, 
Which  we  have  spent  in  childhood's  morn 

Among  the  bees  and  flowers  ? 

Wilt  thou  recall  those  dreadful  nights, 

When,  by  the  couch  of  pain, 
We  listen'd  to  the  gentle  tones 

We  ne'er  shall  hear  again  ? 
When  I,  with  anguish  wild  and  deep, 

Watch'd  o'er  a  fading  friend  ; 
And  thou,  with  sympathy  sincere, 

Thy  tears  with  mine  didst  blend  ? 


SPRING.  207 

But  if  the  days  of  pain  and  gloom, 

And  sunny  hours  of  glee, 
So  strangely  blended  in  the  past, 

Should  be  forgot  by  thee ; 
Yet  think,  I  pray  thee,  of  the  hours 

Spent  in  devotion  sweet, 
Far  from  a  heartless  world  away, 

At  the  Redeemer's  feet ! 

Thou  canst  not  well  forget  thy  bliss, 

"When,  at  the  shrine  of  prayer, 
Lock'd  in  each  other's  arms  we  knelt 

To  place  our  offering  there. 
0,  then,  at  twilight's  sacred  hour, 

When  thou  shalt  bend  the  knee, 
Think  of  the  friend  so  far  away, 

Who  breathes  her  prayer  for  thee ! 


SPRING. 

'Twas  morn — the  sun  was  pouring  forth 

His  floods  of  silver  light ; 
All  nature  smiled,  the  brilliant  earth 

With  new-flush'd  charms  was  bright ; 
For  Spring  had  come  with  noiseless  tread 

To  wake  earth's  sleeping  bloom, 
And  zephyrs  sweet  around  me  spread 

Their  soft  and  rich  perfume. 


208  FOREST   MELODIES. 

The  first  sweet  warbler  of  the  Spring, 

That  loves  the  opening  day, 
Arose  on  bright  and  glittering  wing, 

And  'woke  his  morning  lay. 
The  flower  look'd  up  with  glowing  cheek, 

And  spread  its  petals  fair, 
Breathing  around  its  odours  sweet 

Upon  the  morning  air. 

And  0 !  thought  I,  the  glorious  sun 

That  sunk  to  rest  at  night, 
Has  put  his  robes  of  grandeur  on, 

His  coronet  of  light ; 
And  shall  not  youth's  bright  morning  sun, 

Though  early  set  in  gloom, 
Shall  it  not  rise  in  Spring's  bright  morn, 

And  burst  the  dreary  tomb  ? 

Spring's  gentle  breath  recalls  the  bird, 

That  fled  from  Autumn's  reign  ; 
Its  minstrelsy,  so  long  unheard, 

Enchants  the  ear  again  ; 
But  those  who,  like  the  songster,  fled, 

In  fairer  climes  to  sing, 
Who  for  the  sky  their  pinions  spread, 

Return  not  with  the  Spring. 

And  the  sweet  flower,  that  wither'd  lay 
Long  in  its  wintry  tomb, 


LITTLE    EUGENE.  209 

That  faded  'neath  the'  autumnal  sway, 

Rises  in  all  its  bloom  ; 
But  those  we  loved,  the  young  and  fair, 

Who  droop'd  as  flow'rets  die, 
Awake  not  with  the  vernal  air, 

And  balmy  zephyr's  sigh  ! 

Ah,  no  !  the  dwellers  in  the  tomb 

The  Spring  cannot  restore — 
The  birds  return,  the  flow'rets  bloom, 

But  they  shall  wake  no  more  ! 
Shall  wake  no  more  ?     Nay !  they  shall  rise — 

Faith,  spread  thy  glitt'ring  wing  ! 
The  good  shall  bloom  beyond  the  skies, 

In  an  eternal  Spring  ! 


LITTLE   EUGENE. 

How  suddenly  that  lovely  one 

From  life  departed ! 
As  we  have  seen  some  flower  half  blown, 

Some  bud  just  started — 
Thus  'twas  in  loveliness  crush'd  down, 

Fair  and  light-hearted. 

Two  summers,  in  their  music  tread, 

Went  wildly  singing, 
Shedding  their  beauty  o'er  his  head, 
14 


210  FOREST   MELODIES. 

And  softly  flinging 

A  joy,  which,  as  their  moments  sped, 
His  soul  was  winging. 

Then,  then  the  tie  which  lightly  bound 

His  soul  was  riven, 
And  warm  affections  clust'ring  round 

The  guerdon  given, 
Were  in  their  freshness  all  unbound, 

To  twine  in  heaven  ! 


FLOWER. 

There  is  a  flower,  they  say,  that  blooms 
The  fairest  at  the  hour  of  night, 

And  sweeter  sheds  its  rich  perfume 

Than  when  the  day-beams  glisten  bright. 

When  other  flowers  are  folded  up 
From  the  night  dews  and  chilly  air, 

This  meekly  lifts  its  golden  cup 
To  the  bright  stars  so  coldly  fair. 

Thus  may  our  hearts  in  sorrow's  hour, 
The  darkest  night  to  mortals  given, 

Serenely  as  this  trusting  flower, 

Pour  a  rich  incense-stream  to  heaven. 


MARY.  211 

MARY. 

So  early  call'd, 

And  suddenly,  thou  fondly  cherish'd  one, 
As  we  have  seen  a  star,  the  brightest,  fall 

From  where  it  shone ! 

And  like  a  star, 

That  seems  to  set,  but  shines  away,  away— 
Thus  art  thou  cheering  other  worlds  afar 

With  thy  lost  ray. 

'  Twere  sad  to  die 

Ere  yet  life's  rising  sun  had  reach'd  its  noon ; 
Ere  from  the  bright  flowers,  or  the  gorgeous  sky, 

One  tint  has  gone ! 

How  sad  to  leave 

A  world  as  radiant  and  as  fair  as  ours, 
When  Hope  and  Fancy  round  the  spirit  weave 

Their  bond  of  flowers ! 

While  stronger  yet 

These  kindred  ties — these  link'd  affections — bind 
Down  to  a  world  with  transient  joys  replete, 

The'  immortal  mind ! 
l 

There  is  one  hope 

Which  can  compensate  for  the  ties  thus  riven — 
One  that  can  bear  the  sinking  spirit  up, 

The  hope  of  heaven. 


212  FOREST   MELODIES. 

This  hope  was  thine, 

Thou  blest,  departed  one !  thy  soul  had  cast 
Its  every  burthen  on  that  Friend  divine, 

In  fervent  trust. 

We  think  of  thee 

As  thou  wast  wont  to  walk  among  us  here, 
With  heart  attuned  to  the  rich  melody 

Of  yon  high  sphere. 

We  think  of  thee, 

As  of  a  mariner  o'er  the  dark  sea's  foam ; 
Or,  of  a  trav'ler  from  a  desert  way 

Arrived  at  home. 

Mary — adieu ! 

How  many  hopes  were  borne  upon  thy  bier ! 
Long,  long  for  thee,  in  bitterness  shall  flow 

Affection's  tear. 

Yet  wherefore  mourn, 

That  one  so  fondly  loved  has  found  her  rest  ? 
Why  should  we  weep  in  agony  forlorn 

For  one  so  blest  ? 

We  '11  meet  again ; 

Meet  where  our  sacred  ties  cannot  be  riven — 
Far,  far  from  sorrow,  toil,  or  care,  or  pain ; 

We  '11  meet  in  heaven ! 


JULY   FOURTH.  213 


JULY  FOURTH. 

See  my  country's  banner  waving 

In  its  pride ; 
Hark  !  the  cannon  loudly  pealing 

Near  its  side ! 
All  is  tumult  and  commotion, 

Far  and  wide. 

Loud  our  nation  is  rejoicing 

For  the  day 
She  from  terror  and  oppression 

Broke  away : 
All  the  fields  and  woods  re-echo 

Jubilee ! 

Happy  country !  may  thy  banner, 

Ever  bright, 
Long  upon  this  day  be  streaming 

In  the  light, 
And  with  an  augmenting  splendour 

Cheer  our  sight. 

May  the  sunshine,  soft  from  heaven, 

O'er  thee  shine, 
And  all  other  richest  blessings 

E'er  be  thine ! 
Bless'd,  and  great,  and  happy  country, 

Thou  art  mine ! 


1848. 


214  FOREST  MELODIES. 


THE  RAINBOW. 

Rainbow  of  the  orient  sky, 

Fresh  and  bright  thou  art ! 
Thou  hast  burst,  how  suddenly, 

On  the  sight  and  heart ! 
Now  along  the  gorgeous  cloud, 
Is  thy  form  in  grandeur  bow'd. 

0,  how  freshly  nature  smiles, 

All  impearl'd  with  showers ! 
Call  they  this  a  barren  wild, 
This  sweet  world  of  ours  ? 
There  is  something  lovely  here, 
Glist'ning  bright  through  nature's  tear. 

Verdure  all  around  us  spreads 

Her  soft  robe  so  fair ; 
Balmy  odour  sweetly  sheds 

Incense  on  the  air ; 
And  the  bow,  the  beauteous  bow — 
See  it  in  its  lustre  glow ! 

Thus,  when  sorrow's  flood  is  mine, 

And  its  billows  roll, 
May  the  bow  of  promise  shine 

Brightly  o'er  my  soul, 
And  direct  my  eager  eye 
To  a  calm  and  cloudless  sky  ! 

1848. 


OUR  MOTHER.  215 

OUR  MOTHER. 

"  In  our  wanderings  among  the  sculptured  monuments  of 
Laurel  Hill,  we  came  to  a  large  marble  slab,  bearing  this 
simple,  though  touching  inscription — '  Our  Mother,  she 
taught  us  how  to  live,  and  how  to  die.'  " — Anon. 

She  taught  us  how  to  bear  the  ills  of  life, 

And,  with  prophetic  glance  still  look  beyond, 
Calmly  to  urge  the  sharp  tempestuous  strife, 
And  struggle  on. 

Not  only  did  she  teach  us  to  endure, 

With  sweet  submission,  and  a  cheerful  heart ; 
But  show'd  us  how,  with  motive  high  and  pure, 
To  act  our  part. 

And  0  !  she  taught  us  with  an  even  tread 
And  heart  unmoved  to  pass  through  plea 
sure's  wiles ; 

Unmindful  of  the  beams  from  Fortune  shed, 
And  Flattery's  smiles. 

She  taught  us  to  improve  each  gift  bestowed, 

Each  talent  lent  us  by  indulgent  Heaven ; 
Taught  us  to  consecrate  our  all  to  God, 
At  morn  and  even. 

She  led  us  to  the  great  Redeemer's  cross, 

And  bade  us  fasten  our  affections  there ; 
Taught  us  to  labour  in  his  sacred  cause> 
With  fervent  prayer. 


216  FOREST  MELODIES. 

She  show'd  us  how  to  bid  the  world  farewell, 
And  calmly  launch  upon  that  unknown  wave, 
Whose  mystic  surges  wildly  dash  and  swell 
Around  the  grave. 

"  Our  Mother !"  Let  that  rev'rend  name  so  dear 

Be  graven  on  the  marble  deep  and  high ! 
'Twas  she  who  taught  us  by  example  here 
To  live,  and  die. 


MARY  STODARD. 

Has  that  tender  blossom  withered, 

Faded  in  so  brief  an  hour  ? 
Has  the  grave  within  its  bosom, 

Hid  that  lovely  fragile  flower  ? 
Has  that  cheek,  so  bright  with  roses, 

Strangely,  sadly  faded  now  ? 
Can  it  be  her  form  reposes 

In  the  grave  so  cold  and  low  ? 

Late  I  saw  that  cherub  smiling, 

In  her  doating  parents'  arms ; 
Saw  them  watch,  with  fondest  rapture, 

All  her  new,  unfolding  charms : 
Hopes  about  their  hearts  were  twining, 

Hopes  a  parent  only  knows — 
But,  alas !  those  hopes  have  withered, 

Wither'd  like  a  fragile  rose. 


MART   STODARD.  217 

Such  is  earth — so  strangely  changing ! 

Flowers  may  blossom  bright  to-day, 
Hopes  may  bloom  in  all  their  fragrance, 

And  to-morrow  droop  away. 
Mourning  parent,  there's  a  region 

Where  these  changes  never  come, 
Far  beyond  earth's  blighting  mildew, 

Far  beyond  the  dreary  tomb ! 

Your  sweet  child  has  been  escorted 

To  that  higher,  holier  clime; 
Your  bright  dove  has  spread  her  pinions 

Far  beyond  the  sweep  of  time. 
Hark !  borne  on  the  summer  zephyrs, 

What  sweet  melody  I  hear ! 
'Tis  the  voice  of  the  departed, 

'Tis  that  angel  babe  so  dear ! 

Dost  thou  hear  her  ?    "  Father,  Mother !" 

(Speaks  she  in  that  gentle  tone,) 
"  Mourn  not  o'er  the  mould'ring  casket, 
not  o'er  your  faded  one  ! 
es — she  lives  in  glory, 
Blooms  in  fadeless  beauty  now ; 
Joins  the  choir  of  dazzling  seraphs, 
With  God's  signet  on  her  brow. 

"  Mourn  not,  for  earth's  cares  and  sorrows 
Ne'er  shall  stain  this  spirit  more ; 


218  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Mourn  not,  for  earth's  dark'ning  shadows 
Never  reach  this  radiant  shore ! 

And  when  life  with  you  is  ended, 
Meet  me  by  this  crystal  river ; 

Where  our  spirits,  once  more  blended, 
May  in  gladness  smile  forever !" 


JS13 


A  THOUGHT. 

I  gazed  upon  the  sable  clouds 
That  stretch'd  along  the  western  sky, 

And  far  beneath  a  lonely  star, 
Beaming  with  lustre  met  my  eye. 

And  thus,  methought,  e'en  thus  with  those, 
The  brightest  and  the  best  below, — 

They  shed  a  soft  and  trembling  light 
Beneath  the  heavy  clouds  of  woe. 


ONE  YEAR  AGO. 


One  year  ago  my  heart  was  free, 

As  yonder  woodbird's  chainless  wing ; 

That,  perch'd  upon  some  leafy  tree, 
Is  free  to  fly,  or  free  to  sing ; 

But,  softly  o'er  my  weary  soul 

A  blissful  thought  is  gently  stealing, 


AUTUMN.  219 

For  Love  has  cast  his  chain  of  gold 
Around  each  glad  and  tender  feeling. 

One  year  ago — it  cannot  be 

One  little  year  has  changed  me  thus  ! 
My  lightsome  heart,  no  longer  free, 

By  softest  ties  is  bound  to  dust : 
One  image  plays  before  my  eye, 

One  image  fills  my  waking  dreams ; 
And  nothing  else  beneath  the  sky, 

With  half  the  seeming  beauty  gleams. 

One  year  ago — my  heart  was  then 

More  fully  fix'd  on  things  above  ! 
0  Jesus  !  my  Almighty  Friend, 

Have  I  been  wandering  from  thy  love  ? 
Recall  me  by  thy  blessed  word, 

And  draw  me  by  thy  Spirit  back ; 
And  help  me,  0  my  faithful  Lord, 

Still  to  pursue  the  shining  track. 


AUTUMN. 

Yes,  pale,  melancholy  autumn, 
Once  again  I  hear  thy  moan  ; 

"Tis  a  sweetly  mournful  requiem 
O'er  the  summer  past  and  gone. 


220  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Thou  dost  bring  sad  recollections 
Of  our  once  bright  hopes  laid  low, 

Hopes  once  bright  as  summer  flowers, 
But  like  them  all  fading  now. 

Thou  dost  waken  recollections 

Of  a  dear  departed  one, 
Who  last  autumn  linger'd  with  us, 

But  whose  journey  now  is  done. 

Ah  !  when  last  the  sweet  flowers  withered, 
'Neath  thy  sceptre's  magic  power, 

That  sweet  friend  was  pale  and  fading, 
Like  a  drooping  autumn  flower. 

And  it  seem'd  each  breath  of  autumn 
Left  that  wasting  cheek  more  pale, 

And  the  lamp  of  life  burn'd  feebler 
With  each  passing  autumn  gale. 

Winter  came — that  brother  slumber'd  ; 

Spring  returned — he  was  not  here  ; 
Summer's  days  have  all  been  number'd, 

Autumn's  moans  are  in  my  ear ; 

But,  though  birds  retum'd  in  spring  time, 
And  the  flowers  renew'd  their  bloom, 

Theron,  like  the  flowers  reviving, 
Hath  not  waken'd  from  the  tomb. 


FAREWELL    TO    HOME.  221 

Then  blow  on,  ye  blasts  of  autumn, 
Change  and  wither  all  below  ! 

For  there  is  a  fairer  climate, 

Where  your  breath  can  never  blow. 


FAREWELL   TO    HOM.E. 

Home  of  childhood  !  in  the  sound 
There  are  mem'ries  rich  and  sweet : 

Is  it  not  enchanted  ground, 
Ev'ry  turf  beneath  my  feet  ? 

Here  I  play'd  a  happy  child, 
Binding  up  the  vernal  flowers — 

Here  a  mother's  sunny  smile 
Lighted  up  my  youthful  hours. 

Here  a  father's  blessing  fell, 
Shedding  peace  along  my  way ! 

Brother  !  sister !  tears  must  swell, — 
There  were  others — where  are  they  ? 

I  have  sought  their  peaceful  tomb — 
Breathed  a  farewell  o'er  the  spot — 

And,  though  far  away  I  roam, 
They  shall  never  be  forgot ! 

Let  me  weep,  while  yet  my  tears 
Flow,  to  leave  these  scenes  so  fair ; 


222  FORKS!   MELODIES. 

Duty's  path  more  bright  appears, 
Hope  and  Love  are  smiling  there. 

Not  in  heaviness  of  heart 

Have  I  breathed  the  parting  word- 
Not  in  sorrow  I  depart, 

Though  affection's  fount  is  stirr'd. 

When  in  untried  paths  of  care, 
My  unguided  footsteps  rove ; 

I  may  miss  a  mother  there, 
I  may  miss  a  brother's  love  ; 

Yet  another  loves  me  well, 
With  affection  deep  and  true ; 

Why  should  tears  at  parting  swell  ? 
Happy  home,  adieu  !  adieu ! 

D«c.  12th,  1847. 


IS  IT  WELL  WITH  THE  CHILD? 

2  Kings  iv,  26. 

It  is  well,  though  yon  sun,  in  his  splendour 
declining, 

Looks  not  on  the  beautiful  boy, 
As  with  flying  footsteps,  and  ringlets  shining, 

At  play  in  his  infantile  joy  ; 
Though  his  merry  laugh,  with  its  joyous  ringing, 

No  more  round  our  portals  may  swell, 


IS    IT    WELL    WITH    THE    CHILD  ?  223 

A  freshness  of  love  o'er  our  pathway  flinging, 
Yet  'tis  well  with  the  child — it  is  well. 

It  is  well,  though  his  slumbers  the  birds  may  not 

waken, 

Nor  flow'rets  their  fav'rite  recall ; 
Though  on  all  his  haunts,  by  the  wood-path,  for 
saken, 

The  shadows  of  loneliness  fall ; 
Though  his  cheek  is  as  white  as  the  rose-bud  that 

faded, 

And  ere  its  maturity  fell ; 
Though  by  the  pale  linen  the  sweet  brow  is 

shaded, 
Yet  'tis  well  with  the  child — it  is  well. 

It  is  well,  though  our  hearts  are  in  tenderness 

weeping, 

And  bleeding  afresh  at  the  thought, 
That  the  one  fondly  cherish'd   in   darkness  is 

sleeping, 

And  affection  may  waken  him  not ; 
Though  the  fondest  ties  are  in  agony  riven, 

And  tears  in  their  bitterness  swell, 
We  hear  a  sweet  voice  as  if  whisp'ring  from 

heaven, 
"  It  is  well  with  the  child — it  is  well." 


224  FOREST  MELODIES. 


THE   TWO    SISTERS. 

[When  a  certain  steamer  was  burned  on  one  of  the  Upper 
Lakes,  there  were  on  board  two  young  ladies,  sistera,  who 
had  been  attending  school,  and  were  returning  to  their 

home  at  S .    They  had  arrived  within  sight  of  the 

place,  when,  finding  escape  to  be  impossible,  they  embraced 
each  other,  and  threw  themselves  into  the  deep.] 

"  I  see  those  beauteous  spires  arising  fair, 

Our  home  is  now  in  view  ! 
How  sweet  it  seems  to  sleep  in  stillness  there, 

'Neath  those  broad  skies  of  blue  ! 

"  Our  home  !  My  sister,  soon  our  steps  will  press 

That  lovely  shore  again ; 
And  we  shall  feel  a  mother's  fond  caress, 

And  weep  with  rapture  then  ! 

"  Long,  long  have  we  been  absent,  and  our  tears 

Meanwhile  have  flow'd  together  ; 
But,  see !  the  outline  of  our  home  appears — 

We'll  fly  to  that  fond  mother! 

"  We'll  sit  around  the  hearthstone  as  of  old, 

Its  light  shall  cheer  our  heart ; 
Sweet  home — its  mem'ries  float  around  the  soul, 

Bidding  its  cares  depart ! 

"  TJiere  are  the  trees  which  shelter  that  dear  spot, 
And  tJiere  the  wreathing  vines  ; 


SUNSHINE.  225 

There  grow  the  flowers,  the  last  to  be  fbrgot, 
Where  the  dim  sunbeam  shines ! 

"  0 !  bear  us  swifter  onward,  rolling  tide, 

On  to  our  blissful  home — 
There,  there  are  hearts,   and  arms,  that  open 
wide — 

Sweet  friends,  to  you  we  come ! 

"  Nay,  nay !  our  feet  may  never  press  that  shore ; 

Our  hearts,  that  beat  so  high — 
To  us  'tis  given,  as  life's  last  dream  is  o'er, 

In  sight  of  home  to  die  /" 

1848. 

SUNSHINE. 

Who  does  not  love  the  sunshine, 

Whether  its  genial  glow 
Falls  on  the  dewy  greensward, 

Or  on  the  pearly  snow  ? 
For  there  is  something  cheering 

In  its  unclouded  rays, 
When  o'er  the  troubled  spirit 
Gathers  a  dimming  haze. 

O  !  the  spirit  is  connected, 

By  a  mysterious  chain 
Of  secret,  golden  sympathies, 
To  this  dark  world  of  pain. 
15 


226  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Strange  that  the  misty  vapour, 

Arising  in  the  sky  ; 
Or  clouds  of  gloomy  shadow 
In  darkness  wand'ring  by, 
Should  overwhelm  so  quickly 
The  gladness  of  the  heart, 
Bidding  its  inmost  sunshine, 
Its  cheerfulness  depart. 

O  !  the  spirit  is  connected, 

By  a  mysterious  chain 
Of  secret,  golden  sympathies, 
To  this  dark  world  of  pain. 

Oft,  oft  a  burst  of  sunshine, 
From  yonder  king  of  day, 
Dispels  these  mental  shadows, 
And  drives  our  fears  away. 
A  gush  of  light  surprises 

The  shades  that  meet  our  view, 
And  blissful  thought  arises, 
Like  vapour  from  the  dew. 

0  !  there's  a  bond  mysterious, 

That  o'er  the  soul  holds  sway ; 
Linking  its  secret  sympathies 
With  every  sunny  ray. 


1846. 


A    FALLEN    FRIEND.  227 


A   FALLEN   FRIEND. 

Fallen — not  as  the  star 
That. sweetly  sinks  away, 

To'  enlighten  worlds  afar 
With  an  untarnish'd  ray. 

Nor  as  the  lovely  fall, 

(Blossoms  on  life's  parterre,) 
Who  rest  beneath  the  pall, 

Bedew'd  with  many  a  tear. 

Nor  as  the  soldier  falls, 

When  the  red  field  is  won  ; 

Nor  as  from  Zion's  walls, 
The  latest  duty  done. 

Fallen,  how  sad  to  think ! 

From  all  that's  pure  and  high ! 
Fallen  from  ruin's  brink, 

To  deepest  infamy ! 

Fallen — how  dark  the  thought 
Link'd  with  thy  tarnish'd  name ! 

Thy  mem'ry  now  is  fraught 
With  burning  tears  of  shame. 


228  FOEEST    MELODIES. 


WHILE  THE  STARS   AKE  GLOWING. 

Esther,  while  the  stars  are  glowing 

Far  in  yon  blue  depths  on  high, 
While  the  moon  is  sweetly  throwing 

Lustre  o'er  the  earth  and  sky, 
Oft  I  think  perchance  thou'rt  gazing 

Upward  to  the  vaulted  dome — 
Even  now  thine  eye  thou'rt  raising 

To  yon  star,  above  thy  home. 

By  the  sacred  light  of  even, 

By  the  moon's  tranquillity, 
By  each  holy  star  of  heaven, 

O,  my  friend,  remember  me! 
What  is  this  within  the  bosom 

Longs  to  be  remember'd  thus, 
When  each  hope  shall  cease  to  blossom, 

And  we  slumber  in  the  dust? 

But  when  thoughts  of  me  have  perish'd, 

And  I'm  sleeping  still  and  lone ; 
When  my  mem'ry  is  not  cherish'd, 

By  the  dearest  friends  I've  known ; 
Sister,  let  thy  thoughts  be  given 

To  that  Saviour  whom  I  love ; 
Let  thy  hopes  be  fix'd  in  heaven, 

Let  thy  heart  b«  placed  above ! 


THE    DISCONSOLATE    HUSBAND. 


THE    DISCONSOLATE    HUSBAND. 

"  I  am  very  lonely  now.  My  kind  companion  is  taken 
away ;  and  little  Albert,  who  used  to  amuse  us  with  his 
innocent  prattle,  is  gone — gone  to  the  grave." — Letter  to  a 
Friend. 

I  turn  once  more  to  my  deserted  home, 

But  no  sweet  friend  is  smiling  to  receive  me  ; 

I  hear  no  voice  of  welcome  as  I  come — 

Alas !    my    well-belov'd,    why    didst    thou 
leave  me  ? 

What  should  I  live  for  now,  since  one  so  dear 
From  my  sad  heart  and  lowly  home  is  taken  ? 

What  should  I  live  for,  since  there's  none  to  cheer 
The  lonely  path  through  which  I  roam  for 
saken  ? 

She  pass'd  away,  but  in  our  lonely  home 

She  left  a  bud  of  innocence  still  clinging  ; 
Which,  though  its  parent  flower  was  wrapp'd  in 

gloom, 

Still,    still    around    me    was    its    sweetness 
flinging. 

But  even  that  was  soon  to  leave  my  side,— 
Its  angel  mother  beckon'd  it  to  heaven  ! 

Alas,  my  Albert !  would  that  I  had  died, 
Ere  this  poor  heart  by  such  a  blow  was  riven  ! 


230  FOREST    MELODIES. 

I'm  lonely  now — my  happy  home  is  still ; 

No  lightsome  step,  no  childish  tone  is  there  ! 
Ah  !  'tis  enough  my  cup  of  woe  to  fill, 

And  I  must  drink  the  gall  of  deep  despair. 


TO  A  SISTER  IN  THE  FAR  WEST. 

When  mem'ry  in  my  saddest  hours 

Turns  to  the  buried  past, 
Reviving  joys,  like  morning  flowers, 

Too  fresh  and  pure  to  last ; 
And  when  the  smiles  of  other  years 

Around  me  seem  to  shine, 
A  slight  form  with  the  rest  appears, 

One  gentle  brow  is  thine.  * 

I  think  of  thee,  my  sister  fair, 

As  thou  wert  wont  to  move 
Amid  our  little  circle  there, 

With  looks  and  words  of  love : 
0  !  with  the  mem'ry  of  the  dead, 

Of  those  I  ne'er  may  see, 
Of  smiles  and  forms  that  long  since  fled, 

There  comes  a  thought  of  thee. 

Since  thou  hast  found  another  home 
Far  in  those  western  wilds, 


TO    A    SISTER    IN    THE    FAR   WEST.  231 

Where  merry  children  thronging  come 

To  catch  a  mother's  smiles, 
I  too  have  left  our  father's  hearth, 

That  place  I  lov'd  so  well, 
And  in  another  tract  of  earth, 

'Mid  other  scenes,  I  dwell. 

Two  little  birds,  of  gladsome  wing, 

Alike  in  plume  and  song ; 
Two  flowers,  as  bright  as  those  which  spring 

Your  prairie-paths  along, 
Demand  my  unremitting  care 

And  claim  my  constant  love — 
My  task,  those  dear  ones  to  prepare 

For  the  bright  bowers  above. 

0  sister  !  though  our  paths  below 

Far,  far  apart  may  lie, 
May  we  the  gospel's  influence  shqw, 

Till  both  are  call'd  to  die  ! 
Often  we'll  meet,  if  but  in  thought, 

While  here  we  sadly  roam  ; 
And  when  our  work  is  fully  wrought, 

Sister,  we'll  meet  at  home ! 


232  FOREST  MELODIES. 

TO  OCTOBER. 
Thou  comest  mildly  beautiful, 

All  passionless  and  cold, 
Hanging  a  white  veil  o'er  the  flowers 

In  many  a  sparkling  fold. 

The  greenness  of  the  forest  gay 

At  thy  approach  has  fled, 
And  a  faint  line  of  dull  decay 

Now  lingers  in  its  stead. 

The  vine  that  o'er  our  casement  droops 

Is  tangled,  sear,  and  dry ; 
And  rustles  with  a  mournful  sound 

As  thy  cold  breath  goes  by. 

And  in  the  heart,  0  !  in  the  heart, 
Affection's  wither'd  leaves 

Are  stirr'd  by  mem'ries  deep  and  strong. 
Like  vines  around  our  eaves. 

The  lov'd,  the  lost,  the  beautiful, 
Their  mem'ry  steals  along, 

Making  the  heart  and  eyes  o'erflow 
As  wails  thy  dirge-like  song. 

Yet  pass  along !  we  ask  thee  not 

To  linger  in  thy  track : 
Pass  on — a  most  refulgent  spring 

Shall  call  the  lost  flowers  back. 


THE  LAND   OF  REST.  233 

"MY  FLESH  SHALL  REST  IN  HOPE." 
When  ye  bear  me  away  in  my  coffin  dress 

From  all  I  have  cherish'd  or  known ; 
When  o'er  me  the  cold  clods  ye  silently  press, 

And  leave  me  to  slumber  alone ; 
When  ye  think  of  my  couch,  so  cheerless  and 
chill, 

Where  flowers  in  the  starlight  ope, 
And  the  willow  leaves  in  the  night  air  thrill, 

Remember,  Pm  resting  in  hope! 

When  my  voice  ye  shall  miss  in  my  own  sweet 
home, 

And  look  for  my  coming  in  vain ; 
When  a  shadow  comes  over  you,  dark  as  the 
tomb, 

And  ye  think  of  the  lost  one  again ; 
0  !  remember  then,  from  my  bed  of  dust, 

With  the  vision  of  faith  to  look  up ; 
Remember,  the  Lord  was  my  latest  trust, 

And  know  I  am  resting  in  hope  ! 


1848. 


THE  LAND  OF  REST. 
The  curtain  of  slumber  was  darkly  spread, 
In  oblivion's  folds  it  fell  round  my  head : 
Soft  veil  of  forgetfulness !  sweetly  it  steals 
O'er  the  troubled  heart,  with  trials  oppress'd, 


234  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  ideal  objects  as  sweetly  reveals, 

In  those  beautiful  visions  that  gladden  our  rest. 

Methought  that  the  trials  of  life  were  past, 
That  the  portals  of  heaven  were  gain'd  at  last ! 
I  drank  from  that  fountain  of  happiness, 

Whose  crystal  waters  are  free  from  alloy  ; 
But  who  may  number  the  thoughts  of  bliss, 

Which  fill'd  my  heart  with  impassioned  joy  ? 

I  stood  on  the  brink  of  that  beautiful  river, 
Whose  waters  flow  onward  forever  and  ever : 
While  I  breath'd  the  rich  odors  of  that  holy  clime, 

I  look'd  back  on  the  path  which  had  led  me 

home — 
How  light  were  its  windings !  the  shadows  of  time 

Shed  none  of  their  darkness  beyond  the  tomb. 

I  awoke,  and  my  path  by  the  river  of  time, 
Led  me  on  through  the  flowers  of  a  changing 

clime ; 
I  awoke,  and  the  clouds  that  hung  over  my  sky 

Broke  at  once  my  delusion — the  vision  had  fled ! 
I  listened — the  winds,  that  swept  mournfully  by, 

Seem'd  chanting  a  requiem  over  the  dead ! 

But  why,  I  exclaim'd,  should  we  mourn  for  the 

blest? 
Why  weep  for  the  lov'd,  who  have  enter'd  their 

rest? 


HOPE.  235 

In  that  vision  I  would  not  for  worlds  have  retrac'd 
The  pathway  that  led  me  to  heaven ; 
I  would  not  have  trodden  again  life's  dark  waste, 
For  all  which  this  earth  could  have  given. 

'Twere  meet  to  mourn  for  the  sojourner  here, 
But  not  for  the  blest  of  that  holier  sphere ! 
I  have  trod  with  them  in  my  dreaming  hours 

That  beautiful  region  of  rest ; 
I  have  wander'd    with  them  through  fadeless 
flowers, 

And  heard  the  deep  songs  of  the  blest. 

For  awhile  I'd  forgotten  this  lower  sphere — 
Forgotten  the  clouds  that  envelop  me  here. 
I  woke  from  my  reverie :  my  pathway  still  lay 

Through  a  cheerless  land  of  sorrow  and  gloom ; 
I  am  treading  still  its  bewilder'd  way, 

And  that  land  of  rest  lies  beyond  the  tomb. 


*$&        HOPE. 

0,  what  is  hope  ?    It  is  a  light, 
A  star,  to  gild  the  arch  of  night, 

That  bends  above  us  here ; 
A  cheering  beam  of  heavenly  day, 
Which  drives  the  low'ring  clouds  away 

Of  dark,  foreboding  fear. 


236  FOREST  MELODIES. 

O,  what  is  hope  ?    It  is  a  flower, 
Blooming  more  beauteous  ev'ry  hour, 

Along  life's  rugged,  desert  waste ! 
It  sheds  its  fragrance  on  the  air, 
Forever  springing  fresh  and  fair, 

Unscorch'd  by  the  sirocco's  blast. 

Hope  ?  'tis  a  bright,  angelic  form, 
That  smiles  amid  the  darkest  storm, 

Pointing  to  brighter  days. 
Even  in  Sorrow's  diadem, 
Hope  is  a  gleaming,  golden  gem, 

That  never  quits  our  gaze ! 


1843. 


A  SACRED  RELIC. 
'Tis  a  lock  of  silken  hair, 

Softened  by  a  shade  of  gloom, 
Not  of  time,  or  earthly  care, 

But  a  shadow  from  the  tomb. 

It  has  lost  its  wonted  gleaming ; 

For  the  locks  with  which  it  shone, 
And  the  brow,  with  love-smiles  beaming, 

Moulder  in  the  grave  alone. 

Let  me  wet  it  with  a  tear, 

'Tis  a  token  love  has  saved ; — 

Who  may  know  how  fondly  dear 
Was  the  brow  o'er  which  it  waved  ! 


1846. 


AUTUMN    FLOWERS.  237 

0,  that  brow,  how  oft  I  soothed  it 

When  Consumption's  mists  were  there ! 

This  dark  lock — how  fondly  smoothed  it, 
Gleaming  with  that  silken  hair. 

Those  meek  eyes — I  see  them  now 

Lighted  with  unnatural  fire, 
As  if  turned  from  all  below 

And  fixed  on  something  higher. 

Sacred  relic  from  the  grave, 
How  it  wakes  the  dead  to  life ! 

Only  this  my  love  could  save, — 
'Tis  with  fondest  mem'ries  rife.  • 


AUTUMN  FLOWERS. 
My  sweet  flowers !  behold  them  laden 

With  the  heavy  frosts  of  night ; 
Some  are  bending,  others  broken, 

And  their  green  leaves  crusted  white. 

Thus  we  oft  have  seen  the  aged 
Bending  'neath  the  hand  of  care, 

When  the  frosts  of  time  have  gathered 
On  the  forehead  once  so  fair. 

Yesterday,  an  aged  pilgrim 

Passed  me  on  his  homeward  way ; 

On  his  furrowed  brow  were  written 
Tales  of  trouble  and  decay. 


238  FOREST  MELODIES. 

O'er  his  staff  his  form  was  bending, 
And  his  eye  was  almost  cold  ; 

On  the  wind  his  white  hairs  streaming, 
Bitter  tales  of  sorrow  told. 

0,  how  like  the  flowers  I  cherish, 
Flowers  that  blossom  but  to  fade, 

Are  the  hopes  that  bloom  to  perish, 
And  the  forms  with  sorrow  weighed 


1816. 


1847. 


THE  PORTRAIT. 
While  gazing  on  those  pictiir'd  eyes, 

My  heart  disdains  control ; 
For  in  their  depths  a  something  lies 

Which  moves  the  inmost  soul. 

Upon  those  lips  I  look  with  bliss, 

While  musing  here  alone ; 
Thinking  of  their  fond  parting  kiss, 

And  of  their  farewell  tone. 

0,  let  me  with  this  treasure  kneel 

Lo\^  at  the  Saviour's  feet, 
And  pray  that  both  may  ever  feel 

The  same  communion  sweet ! 

And  pray  with  trembling  heart,  my  love, 
That  He,  who  made  thee  mine, 

May  have  His  image  in  my  breast 
More  deeply  fixed  than  thine. 


I   WOULD    NOT   STAY.  239 


THE  SEA  SHELL. 

Thou  wand'rer  from  the  mighty  sea, 

Is  not  the  bosom  of  man  like  thee  ? 

It  hajh  sounds,  deep  sounds,  a  yearning  tone, 

The  echo  of  voices  long  since  gone. 

Thou  hast  a  sound,  0  thou  ocean  shell ! 
Was  it  caught  from  the  rush  of  the  heavy  swell, 
And  brought  with  thee  from  the  sounding  caves, 
Whence  thou  wert  cast  by  the  truant  waves  ? 

So  with  the  heart : — it  hath  yearnings  high, 
A  sense  of  its  own  immortality ; 
Though  here,  in  the  world's  rough  wilderness, 
It  hath  sounds  from  the  waves  of  woe  and  bliss. 

1843. 

I   WOULD    NOT   STAY. 

I  would  not  stay  forever  here, 

I  long  to  seek  a  fairer  clime, 
A  higher,  holier,  happier  sphere, 

Beyond  the  blighting  change  of  time. 
This  pinion'd  spirit  longs  to  roam 
Beyond  its  poor  terrestrial  home, — 
Earth  has  no  charms,  hope  lends  no  ray 
To  light  my  steps — I  would  not  stay ! 


240  FOREST   MELODIES. 

I  hear  them  praise  this  lowly  sphere ; 

They  seek  to  lengthen  out  their  days  ; 
Fasten  their  strong  affections  here, 

And  tread  with  joy  the  gilded  maze : 
Show  me  its  charms,  its  bliss,  its  ease ; 
Show  me  its  boasted  power  to  please ; 
Show  aught  that  will  not  soon  decay, — 
Thou  canst  not !  nay,  I  would  not  stay. 

"  Friendship,"  say'st  thou  ?     Ah,  yes,  'tis  sweet, 

But,  tell  me,  will  it  never  end  ? 
When  adverse  tempests  wildly  beat 

Around  thee,  hast  thou  still  a  friend  ? 
If  so — but  hark !  I  hear  a  knell, —  /J 

That  friend  has  bid  the  earth  farewell !  4 

Thou'rt  weeping  o'er  his  breathless  clay — 
Friendship  is  brief — I  would  not  stay. 

"  Wealth  !"    What  is  wealth  but  glitt'ring  dust, 

Long  hoarded  with  a  miser's  care  ? 
Canst  thou  in  riches  put  thy  trust, 

And  fasten  thine  affections  there  ? 
Thy  treasure  hoard  where  thieves  break  through, 
And  where  the  moth  corrupteth  too  ? 
Riches  take  wings,  and  fly  away, 
Like  all  below — I  would  not  stay. 

"  Fame  !"  What  is  fame  ?  Go,  ask  the  one, 
Whose  name  was  wafted  on  each  breeze. 


I    WOULD    NOT   STAY.  241 

Till  borne  afar,  a  captive  lone, 

To  yonder  isle  'midst  stormy  seas : 
Ask  him  what  fame  avails  him  now  ? 
'Mid  barren  rocks  he  sleepeth  low, 
His  fame,  his  grandeur,  pass'd  away, 
Like  morning  dews — I  would  not  stay. 

"  But  hope !"    Yes,  hope's  a  welcome  guest, 

To  fainting  souls  she  gives  relief ; 
Affords  the  weary  pilgrim  rest, 

And  soothes  the  heart  oppress'd  with  grief ; 
But  as  life's  surging  waves  roll  on, 
Hope  takes  her  flight,  and  leaves  us  lone : 
In  these  dark  hours,  we  catch  no  ray 
From  earthly  hope — I  would  not  stay. 

Mention  no  more — 'tis  vain,  'tis  vain  ! 

Nothing  on  earth  my  soul  can  please  ; 
These  empty  names  all  give  me  pain, 

I  cannot  love  such  toys  as  these ; 
But  far  beyond  the  cheerless  tomb, 
I  see  a  land  of  changeless  bloom — , 
How  glorious  !    Let  me  take  my  way— 
In  this  dark  world  I  would  not  stay. 
1839.  16 


242  FOREST    MELODIES. 


THE  RINGLET. 

I  gaze  upon  this  ringlet  darkly  shining, 

Which  gleam'd  upon  a  forehead,  guileless,  fair, 

While  with  prophetic  glance  I  am  divining 
The  fate  of  that  sweet  girl  who  wore  this  hair. 

Not  yet  have  time  and  care  eclipsed  the 
brightness 

Of  the  soft  curls  that  o'er  her  temples  stray, 
Nor  sorrow  dimm'd  the  pure,  unsullied  whiteness 

Of  that  fair  forehead  where  this  ringlet  lay. 

How  oft  a  mother's  hand  has  fondly  press'd  it 
Close  to  her  bosom  with  a  calm  delight  ! 

Oft  has  a  mother's  heart  as  fondly  bless'd  it, 
And  fain  would  she  have  kept  it  always  bright. 

Perchance  she  smooth'd  it,  when  in  silence 
kneeling, 

Beside  the  altar,  red  with  hallow'd  blood, 
While  the  bright  angel  was  the  cov'nant  sealing, 

Which  consecrated  there  her  child  to  God. 

Already  have  that  mother's  cold,  white  fingers, 
Forever  ceased  to  twine  this  ringlet  fair  ! 

Already  has  that  love,  which  latest  lingers, 
Breathed  o'er  her  darling  one  a  dying  prayer,' 


THE    RINGLET.  243 

And  thou  art  motherless  !    0,  what  affection 
Wilt  thou  e'er  find  like  hers  who  sleeps  in  dust  ? 

And  in  the  hour  of  gladness,  or  affliction, 

What  heart,  like  hers,  can  claim  thy  fearless 
trust  ? 

Ah,  none  !    Then  well  may  that  soft  shade  of 

sadness, 

Rest  on  thy  features,  long  thy  loss  to  tell ! 
Well   might   thy   heart    lose    all    its  gush  of 

gladness, 

When    thy    young    mother    whisper'd   her 
farewell ! 

And  shall  a  treach'rous  world,  its  charms  distilling, 
Allure  thy  guileless,  unsuspecting  heart  ? 

Or,  will  its  coldness,  thy  young  spirit  chilling, 
Lead  thee  to  seek  for  Mary's  "  better  part  ?" 

O !    shall    the   depths   of    thy  young   heart's 
devotion, 

Be  early  laid  upon  some  worthless  shrine  ? 
Or,  the  pure  spirit's  holiest  emotion, 

Be  placed  upon  an  altar  all  divine  ? 

Ah !  woman's  fate  is  patient,  suff 'ring  meekness, 
That  with  a  firm  resolve  still  struggles  on ; 

Mild  and  submissive  in  her  trusting  weakness — 
Her  lot  is  on  thee,  0,  thou  gentle  one ! 


244  FOREST    MELODIES. 

And  yet  I  cannot  hope  that  thou  wilt  tarry, 
Till  age  has  dropp'd  his  frosts  upon  thy  brow ; 

Thou  canst  not  far  life's  heavy  burden  carry, 
Consumption  was  thy  kindred's  deadly  foe. 

Were  I  to  ask  some  lofty  boon  from  Heaven, 
And  but  one  boon,  thou  dearest  child,  for  thee  ; 

And  could  but  one,  sweet  girl,  to  thee  be  given, 
What  should  I  ask,  while  on  my  bended  knee  ? 

Not  that  life's  path,  through  prosp'rous  vales 

descending, 
Might  lead  thee  onward,  through  far-length- 

en'd  years  ; 
Nor  yet,  that  health,  and  hope,  and  pleasure 

blending, 
Might  leave  no  room  for  sorrow,  pain,  and  tears  ! 

But  that  thy  brow,  whose  curls  may  wear  the 
gleaming 

Of  the  hoar  frosts  of  winter's  clouded  sky, 
Or,  in  an  early  grave  lose  all  their  beaming, 

Might  wear  a  diadem  of  bliss  on  high ! 

1844. 

MY  SISTER. 

She  was  the  youngest,  and  the  first  to  die, 
She  with  the  ringlets  bright,  the  star-lit  eye  : 
Even  now  fond  mem'ry  calls  her  from  the  tomb : 
She  comes  in  all  her  beauty,  all  her  bloom ! 


MY    SISTER.  245 

She  comes  with  tones  of  love  and  step  of  mirth, 
Comes  with  a  smile  to  cheer  our  lonely  hearth  ; 
Around  my  neck  her  soft  white  arms  entwine,  *— 
And  now  that  dimpled  cheek  is  press'd  to  mine. 

Sweet  sister,  how  we  loved  her  !    Ah,  too  well  ! 
For,  like  a  blighted  flower,  she  early  fell,  — 
The  dearest,  loveliest,  are  the  first  to  die, 
The  brightest  bloom  the  earliest  in  the  sky  ! 


Callista  !  0,  thou  beauteous  one  —  adieu  ! 
What  glorious  visions  burst  upon  my  view  ! 
I  see  thee  robed  in  heaven's  eternal  bloom, 
Beyond  the  changing  earth,  the  blighting  tomb. 


CONFIDENCE  IN  GOD. 

"  Thou  shalt  guide  me  with  thy  counsel,  and  afterward 
receive  me  to  glory."    Psalm  Ixxiii,  24. 

Thou  shalt  guide  me  with  thy  counsel, 
While  through  these  rough  wilds  I  stray  ; 

Thou  shalt  lighten  by  thy  Spirit, 
All  the  dark  and  weary  way. 

Then,  0  then,  thou  wilt  receive  me 

To  a  place  at  thy  right  hand ; 
I  shall  live  with  thee  in  glory, 

With  the  pure,  angelic  band. 


246  FOREST    MELODIES. 


SUBBINA 

She  pass'd  away, 

In  the  fresh  morning  of  her  years, 
When,  radiant  most  with  pleasure's  ray, 

Life's  path  appears. 

While  friends  most  kind 
Lavished  their  fond  love  o'er  her  way, 
And  all  things  beautiful  combined       Af  t  .v^ 

To  ask  her  stay. 

O'er  her  fresh  grave 
Now  coldly  falls  the  nightly  frost, 
While  the  loud,  wintry  tempests  rave, 

Wailing  the  lost. 

And  friends  sincere, 

Though  distant  far,  bewail  her  blighted  bloom  ; 
While  tears  from  weeping  kindred  near 

Bedew  her  tomb. 

Where  shall  they  turn  ? 
Where  look  for  consolation  now  ? 
Death's  solemn  signet,  pale  and  stern, 

Is  on  her  brow. 

0  !  ye,  who  stood 
About  her  bed  with  tearful  eye, 
Who  saw  her  sink  in  Jordan's  flood, 

How  did  she  die  ? 


AUTUMN'S  LAMENT.  247 

"  Calmly,"  ye  say  : 
Then  hide  this  solace  in  your  breast, 
And  think,  that,  in  life's  flowery  May,     » 

She  sunk  to  rest. 

This  thought  imparts 
A  balm,  that  bids  your  sorrows  cease  : 
Then  take  it  to  your  stricken  hearts — 

She  died  in  peace. 

1813. 

AUTUMN'S  LAMENT. 
I  come,  but  alas !  in  my  lonely  track, 
There  are  no  fond  smiles  to  welcome  me  back ; 
But  many  a  heart  in  its  loneliness  grieves, 
At  the  sound  of  my  tread  thro'  the  with er'd  leaves. 

I  come  with  my  tempest  clouds  dark  and  drear, 
And  the  cheek  of  loveliness  blanches  with  fear ; 
Then  more  gently  I  trace  my  lines  of  decay, 
And  bright  eyes  distrustfully  all  turn  away. 

I  spread  o'er  the  forests  a  gorgeous  dye, 
Like  the  saffron  tints  of  the  sunset  sky  ; 
And  the  minstrel  sings,  with  a  plaintive  lay, 
Of  the  things  "  that  brighten  to  pass  away." 

I  load  ev'ry  zephyr  with  odours  sweet, 
From  the  flowers  I  trample  beneath  my  feet ; 
And  the  mellow  haze  on  my  wing  is  bright, 
But  they  call  it  a  sad,  unwelcome  light. 


248  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Ah,  why  is  it  thus  ?  I  know  that  I  bear 
A  blight  to  the  summer's  flowerets  fair, 
And  then,  with  my  fingers  of  cold  decay, 
I  tear  the  leaves  from  the  casement  away. 

But,  wherefore  detest  me  ?  commissioned  I  come, 
By  the  One  who  inhabits  yon  lofty  dome, 
And  sendeth  the  spring  to  illumine  the  sky, — 
I  shall  now  do  His  bidding  as  faithfully. 

But  alas — alas !  in  my  lonely  track, 
There  are  no  fond  hearts  to  welcome  me  back ; 
But  many  a  soul  in  its  loneliness  grieves, 
At  the  sound  of  my  tread  through  the  wither'd 
leaves. 

1845. 

(  THE  OLD  MAN'S  ANSWER. 
Do  ye  ask  of  the  friends  I  have  known — 

The  young,  and  the  fair,  and  light-hearted  ? 
Ah  !  the  path  I  now  traverse  is  lone, 

For  alas !  they  have  long  since  departed  ! 
Some  are  scatter'd  and  scathed  by  the  hand  of 

tune, 
And  others  have  pass'd  to  eternity's  clime. 

O !  ye,  of  the  blue  or  the  dark-beaming  eye, 
And  ye,  of  the  red  lips'  beauteous  hue ;  — ' 

The  friends  of  my  happier,  earlier  years, 
Were  as  bright  and  as  lovely  as  you : 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  ANSWER.  249 

Hope  spread  o'er  their  features  as  glowing  a  charm, 
And  hearts,  that  I  clung  to,  were  beating  as  warm. 

How  clear  in  the  eye  of  my  memory  shine, 
The  bright  young  faces  that  circled  me  then ! 

They  seem,  as  the  sun  of  my  life  declines, 
More  oft  with  my  dreary  visions  to  blend ; 

For  as  age  advances,  days,  long  since  gone, 

Seem  fresh  as  the  deeds  on  yesterday  done. 

O !  methinks  I  can  see  them  now ; 

But  where  has  the  gladness  gone, 
Which  beam'd  from  each  radiant  brow, 

And  over  my  young  heart  shone  ? 
It  has  fled  from  the  earth  like  spring's  sweet 

breath, 
Those  smiles  have  been  stolen  by  time  and  death. 

Some  early  and  happily  pass'd  away, 
With  a  death-light  on  the  wasted  cheek ; 

And  the  eye,  lighted  up  by  a  slow  decay, 
Beam'd  languidly  forth,  so  clear,  and  meek ; 

And  so  slowly  the  brow  became  white  and  sad, 

It  scarcely  changed  when  death's  impress  was 
made. 

And  others  departed  as  quickly  from  earth, 
As  the  meteor  shoots  beyond  our  sight ; 

Their  voices  are  silent  around  the  hearth, 
Each  dwelling  has  lost  its  former  light : 


250  FOREST  MELODIES. 

By  their  bounding  footsteps  the  dews  are  not  stirr'd, 
Their  names  are  forgotten,  where  once  they  were 
heard. 

Say  not,  it  is  sad  or  distressing  to  die ! 

Did  ye  feel  all  the  sorrows  of  age, 
Did  ye  know  ev'ry  burden'd  and  weary  sigh, 

Which  comes  near  the  close  of  our  pilgrimage, 
Ye  would  think  it  were  better,  far  better  to  die, 
Ere  the  tempests  of  age  should  pass  over  your  sky. 

I  seem  to  myself  like  a  pilgrim  lone, 

Threading  his  way  through  a  desert  land ; 

Pausing  and  weeping  o'er  friends  that  have  gone, 
With  the  objects  of  life  unattain'd  : 

Though  my  pathway  leadeth  where  bright  faces 
shine, 

They  waken  no  answer  in  this  heart  of  mine.    ) 

1846  -J 


1846. 


ON  RECEIVING  A  GERANIUM. 
"Tis  a  sweet  gift  of  friendship,  Mary, 

I'll  prize  it  for  thy  sake ; 
And  often  as  new  leaves  unfold, 

Shall  glowing  thoughts  awake ! 
Yea,  thoughts  of  Friendship's  sacred  flower, 

Which  blooms  so  purely  bright ; 
Nor  withers  in  some  fleeting  hour, 

Nor  fades  with  Autumn's  blight. 


. 

•  I   *  '  • 

LAST  WORDS   OF  THEBON.  251 

And  if  it  ever  blossom,  Mary, 

I'll  trace  thine  emblem  fair, 
In  the  bright  bud,  unfolding  soft 

Its  petals  to  the  air : 
Oft  it  shall  bid  me  think  of  thee, 

And  pray  that  thou  may'st  cheer, 
With  love's  requital,  day  by  day, 

Fond  hearts  that  love  thee  here. 

Thou  art  thyself  a  germ,  Mary, 

Which  fond  Affection  rears, 
Joyful  at  each  maturing  charm, 

That  in  the  bud  appears. 
Such  care  demands  the  choicest  sweets 

Of  tender,  filial  love, 
Until,  transplanted  from  the  earth, 

The  flower  shall  bloom  above. 

1846. 

, 
LAST  WORDS  OF  THERON. 

"What  is  so  cheering, — what  can  afford  such  consola 
tion, — what  can  yield  such  pure  enjoyment,  as  the  religion 
of  Jesus  Christ?" 

Thus  he  wrote,  and  left  unfinish'd — 

Laid  his  pencil  down  to  die  ! 
Thus  he  wrote,  and  then  a  message 

Call'd  him  homeward  to  the  sky. 


252  FOREST    MELODIES. 

'Twas  a  dear,  lamented  brother — 

Cease,  fond  heart,  thy  throbbing  now' 

Years  have  pass'd,  since  deep  affectioo 
Shower'd  its  tears  upon  that  brow. 

Time,  they  say,  is  a  sure  healer ; 

Wherefore  then  do  I  repine  ? 
Years  have  fled,  since  in  my  anguish, 

Those  cold  lips  were  press'd  to  min* 

Still  affection's  sacred  fountain 
Overflows  with  many  a  tear ; 

Still  that  name,  by  some  forgotten, 
Wakes  a  thrilling  echo  here. 

Theron !  0,  how  sweet  the  music 
Of  that  fondly-cherish'd  name, 

Though  it  may  not  shed  its  lustre 
On  the  glowing  lists  of  fame ! 

Yet,  on  hearts  that  knew  and  prized  him. 

That  fond  name  is  traced  in  love, 
And  recorded  in  the  volume 

Of  eternal  life  above. 

Theron's  was  an  ardent  spirit, 
Theron's  was  a  soul  of  flame; 

Ever  in  its  flight  aspiring 

Towards  the  throne  of  the  I  AM. 


LAST    WORDS    OF   THERON.  253 

So  aspiring,  that  earth's  fetters 
Could  not  long  its  pinions  chain ; 

So  unearthly,  that  the  casket 
Could  not  long  its  gem  contain  ! 

What  delightful  hopes  I'd  cherish'd— - 

Hopes,  but  destined  to  depart ! 
Shall  I  here  disclose  the  secret, 

That  was  hidden  in  my  heart  ? 

'Twas  to  see  this  faithful  witness 
Of  the  Saviour's  cleansing  blood, 

Stand  upon  the  walls  of  Zion 
As  a  watchman  for  his  God ; 

Hear  him  blow  the  gospel  trumpet, 
Spread  the  news  of  heavenly  grace ; 

Publish  to  a  world  in  darkness, 
Tidings  of  the  Prince  of  peace. 

And  this  hope  was  not  ungrounded, 
'Twas  a  sister's  fondest  prayer — 

How  it  burn'd  within  my  bosom, 
Rousing  holy  feelings  there ! 

Happy  they,  who  fill  that  station, 

Nearest  the  eternal  throne, 
Holding  a  divine  commission 

From  the  High  and  Lofty  One! 


254  FOREST   MELODIES. 

But  my  hopes  were  quench'd  in  darkness, 
Early  quench'd  within  the  tomb ; 

Death's  cold  hand  eclipsed  their  brightne* 
Veil'd  them  in  the  deepest  gloom. 

Theron  stands  upon  Mount  Zion, 

Clad  in  garments  wash'd  with  blood, 

Drinking  from  that  living  fountain, 
Springing  from  the  throne  of  God  ! 


A  CAUSE  FOR  SADNESS. 
Thou  askest  wherefore  sadness  flings 

Its  darkness  o'er  my  sky  ? 
And  when  I  touch  the  tuneful  strings, 
Thou  askest  why  their  murmurings 

Are  blended  with  a  sigh  ? 

This  question  I  have  long  since  heard 

From  many  lips  before, 
With  many  a  harsh,  reproachful  word, 
And  many  a  tone  by  kindness  stirr'd, 

Which  I  shall  hear  no  more. 

How  shall  I  answer  ?    Sure  this  heart 

Hath  often,  often  bled ! 
Hath  often  felt  the  bitter  smart, 
The  fearful  pang  when  friends  depart, 

To  mingle  with  the  dead. 


A   CAUSE   FOR  SADNESS.  255 

But  0  !  I  am  not  always  wed 

To  bitter  thoughts  of  gloom : 
Sweet  blossoms  o'er  my  way  are  spread, 
And  fondest  friends  conspire  to  shed 

A  brightness  round  my  home. 

Unhappiness  was  never  mine : 

Nay,  all  along  my  path, 
The  dew-drops  on  the  blossoms  shine, 
While  busy  hands  a  wreath  entwine 

With  hopes  the  future  hath. 

The  earth  has  charms  that  bind  my  soul 

To  thoughts  of  pure  delight ; 
The  planets,  that  so  sweetly  roll 
Amid  the  stars  on  yonder  scroll, 

And  Cynthia's  silver  light ; 

And  mid-day  skies  of  tranquil  blue, 

When  summer's  wing  is  free ; 
The  waters  that  reflect  their  hue, 
The  blossoms  wet  with  morning  dew, — 

All,  all  have  charms  for  me. 

Yet,  when  through  brightest  paths  I  tread, 

With  heart  attuned  to  joy ; 
My  thoughts  soon  wander  to  the  dead, 
And  shadows  that  seem  rife  with  dread, 

Flit  past—I  know  not  why  I 


256  FOREST  MELODIES. 

I  said  my  path  was  pleasant  here, 

And  friends  were  kind  and  true ; 
But  ah !  the  world  looks  hollow,  drear- 
From  its  cold  breath  I  shrink  with  fear 

Which  thousands  never  knew. 
There's  a  presentiment  of  gloom, 

Perchance  an  early  death ; 
Which  bids  me  linger  near  the  tomb, 
And  muse  upon  that  hour  of  doom, 

When  I  must  yield  my  breath. 


1847. 


HOUR  OF  SUNRISE. 
From  the  tranquil  brow  of  day, 
Ev'ry  star  has  dropp'd  away, 

And  the  mists  of  blue 
Rise  along  the  winding  streams, 
As  the  sun's  first  mellow  beams 

Pour  in  brightness  through. 

Fresh  and  still  the  dew-drop  lies, 
Waiting  to  ascend  the  skies, 

When  the  flower  awakes ; 
Silence  chains  the  zephyr's  wing, 
Nature's  low-hush'd  murmuring 

Of  the  calm  partakes. 

Hour  of  sunrise,  peaceful  hour ! 
Thou  possessest  wondrous  power 
To  enchant  the  heart — 


VOICE   OF  THE   OLD   CLOCK.  !&6 

Joy,  that  rises  now  from  rest, 
Pours  its  full  tides  through  the  breast, 
Bids  the  pulses  start. 

VOICE  OF  THE  OLD  CLOCK. 
I  gazed  on  this  relic  of  olden  time, 
And,  startled  at  hearing  its  mournful  chime, 
"What  hast  thou  seen?"  I  exclaim'd  with  a 

sigh, 
And  a  voice  from  the  old  clock  made  reply : 

"  Well  may'st  thou  ask  what  I  have  seen, 
And  tremble  at  my  startling  chime ; 

For  I  have  measured  slowly  here, 
A  full  half  century  of  time. 

"  I've  measured  moments  big  with  joy 
To  many  a  youthful,  happy  heart ; 

And  I  have  struck  the  awful  hour, 

Which  bade  their  earthly  hopes  depart. 

"  Bright- flashing  eyes  have  beam'd  02  me, 
Glad  hearts  have  listen'd  to  my  tone, 

While  I  was  counting  rapidly 

The  happy  hours  which  fled  too  soon. 

"  And  weary  eyes  have  upward  tunjVJ, 
To  trace  the  hours  which  moved  too  slow, 

While  in  the  bosom  darkly  burn'd 
Consuming  cares,  and  grief,  and  woe. 

17 


958  FOREST   MELODIES. 

"  I've  gazed  upon  the  smiling  babe, 
Nestled  upon  its  mother's  breast ; 

Mingled  my  chiming  with  the  song, 
Which  lull'd  it  to  its  evening  rest. 

"  I've  seen  that  mother's  eye  grow  dun 
While  watching  o'er  its  cradle  bed ; 

Her  faithful  vigils  still  she  kept, 
When  ev'ry  ray  of  hope  had  fled. 

•'  I  saw  that  white-robed  infant  laid 
Off  from  its  weeping  mother's  breast, 

And  placed  beneath  the  coffin  lid — 
Its  last,  its  safest  place  of  rest. 

"  Twice  1  have  seen  the  youthful  bride, 
With  deep-flush'd  cheek,  and  burning  eye, 

Smiling  and  weeping  at  his  side, 
To  whom  she  turn'd  confidingly. 

"  I  saw  the  last  fond  kiss  bestow'd, 
Heard  the  parental  counsel  given, 

While  ev'ry  throbbing  bosom  show'd 
How  tender  were  the  ties  then  riven. 

*  I've  seen  the  youthful  cheek  and  eye 
Grow  brilliant  with  a  fearful  light, 

And  on  the  forehead,  polish'd,  high, 
Consumption's  signet  glist'ning  bright. 


1843. 


A  VISION.  259 

"  I've  heard  the  rending  word,  Farewell, 
Breathed  faintly  from  the  dying  bed ; 

And  next,  the  dismal,  old,  church  bell, 
Pealing  its  requiem  for  the  dead. 

"  0  mourner !  haste  thee  to  be  wise, 
While  yet  thy  moments  come  and  go ; 

Changing  is  all  beneath  the  skies, 
Transient  is  every  scene  below ! 

"  Prepare  for  an  immortal  clime, 

For  that  sweet  land  where  hopes  have 
flown; 

For  thou  must  leave  the  shore  of  time, 
And  I  shall  chime  thine  exit  soon !" 

Old  Clock,  thy  voice  has  something  strange ; 
It  speaks  of  life,  and  death,  and  change : — 
0  !  while  we  hear  the  warning  given, 
May  we  in  time  prepare  for  heaven ! 


A  VISION. 

I  cross'd  the  Atlantic's  billowy  flood, 
And  in  a  grove  of  palm-trees  stood, 

Upon  a  burning  strand, 
Where  the  rich  odours  wafted  by, 
And  the  deep  azure  of  the  sky, 

Bespoke  a  foreign  land. 


260  FOREST  MELODIES. 

In  the  cool  fragrance  of  that  shade, 
A  lone  and  mossy  grave  was  made, 

And  at  its  head  there  stood 
An  angel,  from  the  realms  of  light, 
Whose  folded  pinions,  ever  bright, 

With  heavenly  radiance  glow'd. 

"Whom  guard'st  thou  there?"  I  trembling 

said, 
While  on  that  low  turf-cover'd  bed, 

Inquiringly  I  gazed : 
Thus  the  bright  angel  made  reply, 
While  upward,  toward  the  beaming  sky, 

One  glitt'ring  wing  was  raised. 

"  Would  that  the  earth,"  he  answer'd  weep 
ing, 

"  Knew  where  its  mightiest  ones  were  sleep 
ing! 

Alas,  it  is  not  so ! 

Men  kneel  before  a  monarch's  bier, 
A  conqueror's  tomb  they  proudly  rear, 
Their  place  of  burial  know. 

"  But  these,  their  brightest  and  their  best, 
They  care  not  where  their  ashes  rest ; 

Neglected  and  unknown, 
The  Muse  of  History  heeds  them  not, 
And  Poesy  seeks  not  the  spot, 

Where  they  are  sleeping  lone. 


A   VISION.  261 

"  But  well  their  deeds  are  known  above, 
Their  mighty  works  of  faith  and  love 

Are  register'd  on  high ; 
And  angels,  who  the  record  read, 
Could  wish  in  the  same  path  to  tread, 

In  the  same  way  to  die. 

"  Bright  seraphs  from  the'  eternal  throne, 
With  sacred  pleasure  hasten  down, 

Commission'd  by  their  Lord, 
To  take  their  stations  where  such  lie, 
As  nobly  for  their  Master  die, 

And  form  a  naming  guard. 

"  Thou  askest  who  is  sleeping  here  ? 
A  being  of  this  troubled  sphere ! 

To  me,  to  me  'tis  given 
To  guard  the  poor,  unconscious  dust, 
Till,  with  the  object  of  my  trust, 

I  am  recall'd  to  heaven. 

"  A  passion  deep  within  him  glow'd, 
To  linger  near  Castalia's  flood, 

Or  tread  the  halls  of  lore  ; 
A  panting,  deep  desire  for  fame, 
The  wish  to'  immortalize  his  name — 

The  last  which  youth  gives  o'er. 

"  Content  with  want  and  woe  to  meet, 
He  gave  up  all  at  Jesus'  feet, 
And  falter'd,  '  Here  am  I! 


262  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Send  where  thou  wilt,  but  only  send :' — 
'  Lo,  I  am  with  you  to  the  end,' 
The  Saviour  made  reply. 

"  His  eye  was  fix'd  upon  this  shore, 
His  heart  with  pity's  flood  ran  o'er, 

Swift  to  this  clime  he  sped, 
To  bear  the  news  of  gospel  grace ; 
And  here  he  found  a  resting-place, 

Among  the  glorious  dead. 

"  Know'st  thou  how  many  sons  of  night, 
He  led  into  the  gospel  light  ? 

Nay,  nay — thou  canst  not  know ! 
But  when  before  the  flaming  bar, 
Then  thou  shalt  count  each  radiant  star 

That  gleams  upon  his  brow." 


1847. 


THE  DISAPPOINTED. 

Julia,  I  have  heard  thy  story, 
Listen'd  to  thy  tale  of  woe ; 

There  is  darkness  hanging  o'er  thee, 
Which  the  world  can  never  know. 

Thy  companions  gaze  with  sadness 
On  thy  wasting  cheek  so  fair, 

Wond'ring  why  the  light  of  gladness 
Does  not  shed  its  lustre  there. 


THE  DISAPPOINTED.  203 

Yea,  they  see  the  light  departed 
From  thy  dark,  but  lustrous  eye, 

Wond'ring  why  the  merry  hearted 
Stifles  thus  the  rising  sigh. 

There  is  one  among  the  number, 
One  who  knows  the  reason  well : 

Can  that  guilty  conscience  slumber  ? 
Can  those  lips  of  falsehood  smile  ? 

He  has  wrested  the  affection 

Of  thy  young  and  trusting  heart ; 

His  must  be  the  sad  reflection 

That  he  barb'd  and  hurl'd  the  dart. 

Thou  hast  loved,  thou  gentle  creature — 
Loved  too  fondly,  and  too  well ! 

By  thy  wasted  form  and  feature, 
By  thy  tears  which  often  swell, 

By  thy  woeful  tale  of  sorrow, 

Well  I  know  it  has  been  so ! 
From  what  fountain  canst  thou  borrow 

Solace  for  thy  bitter  woe  ? 

Friendship  ?  what  can  friendship  yield  thee  ? 

If  thou  tell  me  all  thy  grief, 
I,  alas !  can  never  heal  thee, 

Cannot  yield  the  least  relief. 


204  FOREST  MELODIES. 

There  is  One  can  ease  thy  sighing, 
One  can  hush  thy  soul  to  rest : 

He  can  love  with  love  undying — 
Julia,  fly  to  Jesus'  breast ! 


TO  MY  HUSBAND. 
Husband,  shrink  not  in  the  contest 

With  the  powers  of  hell  and  night ; 
Let  thy  heart  be  still  undaunted, 

Mid  the  fiercest  of  the  fight. 

Oft  I  see  a  gloomy  shadow 
Stealing  o'er  thy  brow  awhile ; 

Though  thou  strivest  to  be  cheerful, 
There  is  sadness  in  thy  smile. 

Ah !    I  know  thy  heart  is  weary 
Of  the  roughness  of  thy  way  ; 

But  amid  the  darkness  dreary, 
I  have  seen  a  gleam  of  day. 

Yes,  I  see  a  crown  suspended, 
In  its  brightness  o'er  thy  brow ; 

And  its  radiance  is  blended, 

With  those  mournful  shadows  now. 

The  Redeemer  means  to  try  thee, 
Means  to  prove  thy  faithfulness ; 

Yet,  the  while,  he  lingers  nigh  thee, 
And  he  lingers  nigh  to  bless. 


Jan.  1848. 


THE  WISH   OP  A   FRIEND.  265 

0  !  then,  shrink  not  in  the  contest 
With  the  powers  of  hell  and  night ; 

Let  thy  heart  be  still  undaunted, 
In  the  fiercest  of  the  fight ! 


THE  WISH  OF  A  FRIEND. 
"  Yonder,  in  the  crimson  west, 
Since  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest, 
Through  the  deep'ning  mists  afar, 
Shines  a  purely  tranquil  star ; 
Like  that  sweet  star  fain  would  I  shine 

In  this  dark  world  of  gloom, 
And  shed  a  radiance  all  divine, 
To  cheer  some  humble  home. 

"  0  \  not  in  grandeur's  noontide  rays, 
Where  prosp'rous  suns  would  round  me 

blaze ; 

Not  there,  not  there  would  I  be  seen ; 
But  with  a  holy  light  serene, 
Breaking  through  clouds  of  moral  night, 

The  lonely  heart  to  cheer ; 
Throwing  a  mild  and  hallow'd  light, 

Around  some  lowly  sphere." 

Thus  spake  my  friend,  as  the  last  ray 
Shone  out  from  the  departing  day, 


266  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  found  us  in  our  stroll  afar, 
Intently  gazing  on  that  star : 
I  look'd  upon  her  girlish  brow, 

And  something  strange  was  there ; 
It  sweetly  caught  the  sunset's  glow, 

And  seem'd  surpassing  fair. 

And  now,  in  poverty's  drear  vale, 
Where  meagre  want  is  wand'ring  pale, 
Where  suns  of  grandeur  never  gleam, 
That  star  so  brilliant  sheds  its  beam  ; 
Its  rays  fall  on  a  wretched  home, 

And  gladness  gathers  there ; 
It  ever  shines  amid  the  gloom, — 

My  friend  is  that  sweet  star. 


AN  EXOTIC. 
Stranger  flower,  whence  dost  thou  come, 

With  thy  languid,  beamless  eye  ? 
And  thy  slender,  fragile  form, 

Trembling  at  the  zephyr's  sigh  ? 
I  never  heard  thy  name, 

Nor  saw  thy  form  before — 
They  ask  me  whence  it  came, 

This  pale  exotic  flower. 

Thou  'rl  from  the  distant  west, 
Where  wild  sweet-scented  flowers 


AN   EXOTIC.  267 

With  richer  hues  are  dress'd, 

Than  in  our  garden  bowers. 
Ah  !  is  it  our  cold  clime, 

Which  makes  thy  cheek  so  pale, 
Thine  eye  so  passionless, 

And  thy  slight  form  so  frail  ? 

Dost  thou  bewail  thy  home, 

Sigh  for  thy  native  air ; 
Where  kindred  flow'rets  bloom 

More  beautifully  fair  ? 
Lone  flower,  thy  lot  is  sad ; 

For  early  frosts  will  come, 
And  thy  soft  tints  must  fade, 

A  thousand  leagues  from  home. 

I  knew  a  stranger  flower, 

-Whose  native  clime  was  heaven, 
Calm  as  the  twilight  hour, 

Bright  as  the  star  of  even. 
It  bloom'd  awhile  below, 

On  the  rough  waste  of  time ; 
Bloom'd  beneath  clouds  of  woe — 

An  uncongenial  clime. 

How  sadly  sweet  it  smiled 

On  earth's  cold-hearted  throngs ! 

Shrank  from  its  flatt'ring  wiles, 
And  trembled  at  its  wrongs ! 


°68  FOREST  MELODIES. 

But  soon  the  frosts  of  death 

Fell  with  their  blighting  power — 

Beneath  their  icy  breath 

Wither'd  the  stranger  flower  ! 

CONNUBIAL  LOVE. 
What,  lonely,  and  unhappy  too  ? 
My  friend,  my  Lucy,  say'st  thou  so  ? 

"Pis  passing  strange  to  me ! 
Lonely  with  him  who  won  thy  love, 
Unhappy  by  his  side  to  rove, — 

Methinks  it  cannot  be ! 

You  speak  of  childhood's  happy  home, 
Lament  the  fate  which  bade  thee  roam 

In  untried  paths  afar ; 
Breathing,  in  a  most  plaintive  strain, 
The  wish  that  thou  wert  back  again, 

Where  all  thy  schoolmates  are. 

Ah !  late  a  smile  was  on  thy  brow, 
When  thou  didst  breathe  the  marriage  vow 

With  hopes  so  bright  and  fair ; 
One  year  has  pass'd,  one  fleeting  year, — 
Still  the  same  flowers  are  blooming  here, 

Which  wreath'd  thy  glossy  hair. 

I  twined  that  bridal  wreath,  my  friend, 
And  with  each  flower  did  wishes  blend, 
That  Lucy's  lot  below 


CONNUBIAL  LOVE.  269 

Might  be  as  bright  with  earthly  bliss, 
With  pure  unsullied  happiness, 
As  Heaven  could  well  bestow. 

But  hark !  Afar  o'er  Hudson's  stream 
I  hear  a  sigh — 'tis  like  a  dream, 

A  well-remember'd  tone ! 
My  ear  shrinks  from  the  sad'ning  strain — 
My  friend,  my  friend !  dost  ihou  complain 

Of  being  sad  and  lone  ? 

Strange  that  the  heart  I  thought  so  warm 
With  hope  and  love's  mysterious  charm, 

Should  breathe  that  plaintive  strain ! 
Where,  where  is  he,  for  whom  thy  heart 
From  ev'ry  former  friend  could  part, 

And  break  each  golden  chain  ? 

I  thought  Love  had  a  tie  so  dear, 
That  while  one  faithful  heart  was  near 

To  share  the  spirit's  bliss, 
This  world's  most  dreary  wild  would  prove 
As  Eden  bright  with  rays  of  love, 

And  purest  happiness. 

0  !  yes,  I  thought  connubial  love, 
Though  a  fit  flower  for  climes  above, 
Could  bloom  'neath  our  cold  sky ; 


270  FOREST  MELODIES. 

But,  Lucy,  thine  experience  seems 
To  show  the  folly  of  my  dreams, 
And  give  my  thoughts  the  lie. 


£45. 


THE  EARLY  DFAD. 

Hast  thou  tears  for  those  who  die 
In  the  morning  of  their  years, 

Ere  their  bright  and  silvery  sky 

Has  been  shadow'd  o'er  with. fears? 

Mourn  not  for  the  early  bless'd : 

They  have  'scaped  the  storms  of  life — 

O,  how  tranquil  is  their  rest, 
Undisturb'd  by  earthly  strife  ! 

Say'st  thou,  it  were  sad  to  leave 
All  so  beautiful  and  bright — 

Hopes  which  Fancy  loves  to  weave, 
Fresh  with  dews  of  new  delight  ? 

Sad — yet  sadder  far  to  live 
Till  each  hope  has  fled  forever ; 

And  the  thrill  which  pleasures  give, 
Ceases  through  the  heart  to  quiver ! 

Sadder  far  to  linger  on 

Till  the  world  is  cold  and  changed ; 
Till  the  fondest  friends  are  gone, 

And  the  warmest  hearts  estranged  ! 


1849. 


WHAT  I   LOVE.  271 

Weep  for  those  who  tarry  longest 

In  our  uncongenial  clime ; 
Those  whose  hopes  are  link'd  the  strongest 

To  the  fleeting  things  of  time. 

But  for  such  as  pass  away 

In  the  spring-time  of  their  years, 

Those  who  pass  from  earth's  decay, 
It  were  well  to  dry  thy  tears ! 

If  their  life,  however  brief, 

Has  but  taught  them  how  to  die, 

Why  should  mists  of  tears  and  grief 
Cloud  their  passage  to  the  sky  ? 

0 !  ye  bright  and  early  bless  'd, 
We  would  breathe  a  soft  adieu ! 

Yet,  while  envying  such  a  rest, 

Why  should  tears  be  shed  for  you  ? 

WHAT  I  LOVE. 
0  !  I  love  the  shady  grove, 

Where  the  sun-beam  never  plays  ; 
And  the  sunny  lawn  I  love, 
•  Gleaming  in  the  noon-tide  rays. 

And  the  cloudless  skies  I  love, 

Love  their  beaming  depths  of  blue ; 

And  the  clouds  that  wildly  rove, 
Lighted  with  a  crimson  hue. 


272  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  I  love  the  sun-beam  bright, 
Shining  through  a  summer  sky  ; 

Love  sweet  Cynthia's  mellow  light, 
Falling  pure  and  tranquilly. 

Love  the  twilight's  sacred  hour, 

When  soft  shadows  round  me  steal ; 

It  hath  tranquillizing  power, 

Power  to  make  the  cold  heart  feel. 

And  I  love  the  early  dawn, 

When  the  bird  awakes  his  hymn ; 

When  below  the  rising  sun 

Float  the  vapours  soft  and  dim. 

0  !  there's  beauty  everywhere, 
In  each  path  we  tread  below : 

Music  in  the  sky,  the  air, — 

Hark — how  sweet  its  numbers  flow ! 

.846. 

SORROW. 

There  are  tears  of  sorrow  shed, 
O'er  the  pillow  of  the  dead, 

Wheresoe'er  death  strikes  the  blow ; 
But  most  bitter  those  which  start 
From  the  parent's  burden'd  heart, 

O'er  their  offspring  cold  and  low ! 

Mother,  hast  thou  gazed  through  tears, 
O'er  the  hope  of  coming  years, 
Blighted  in  its  early  pride  ? 


WHERE   IS  MY  MOTHER?  273 

Did  the  last  look  haunt  thee  then, — 
Those  soft  eyes  upturn'd — as  when 
In  tnme  arms  it  smiled  and  died  ? 

Thou  didst  see  the  lovely  flower 
Perish  in  its  morning  hour, 

While  within  thy  stricken  heart, 
Thou  wert  garn'ring  up  with  care, 
Oherish'd  thoughts  of  one  so  fair, 

Thoughts  which  never  can  depart. 

0  !  that  bright  and  happy  face, 
Beaming  with  such  heavenly  grace, 

Seems  to  greet  thee  from  the  skies ; 
To  thy  soul  a  light  is  streaming — 
Tis  the  calm  and  silent  beaming 

Of  those  tender,  infant  eyes. 


WHERE  IS  MY  MOTHER? 

Where  is  my  lonely  mother, 
This  bright  autumnal  morn  ? 

Ah,  sits  she  by  my  brother, 
Pale  and  forlorn  ? 

Methinks  I  see  her  listen. 
For  tones  of  other  years, 

The  while  her  mild  eyes  glisten 
Through  starting  tears. 
18 


274  FOREST  MELODIES. 

(Dear  mother,  how  I  love  theo  I 
V        How  fondly,  and  how  well  I 
May  angel  wings  above  thee 
All  clouds  dispel ! 

May  Jesus'  smiles  enlighten 
Thy  long  and  weary  way, 

While  in  the  distance  brighten 
The  gates  of  day ! 

And  may  thy  happy  spirit, 

Of  holiness  possess'd, 
With  mine,  at  length  inherit" 

The  land  of  rest, 
wo. 

AUGUSTA. 
Two  short  summers  shed  their  beauty 

O'er  our  darling  one, 
When  she  droop'd,  as  flowers  that  wither 

'Neath  a  vernal  sun. 
We  had  watch'd  the  bright  unfoldings 

Of  th'  immortal  mind, 
Little  thinking  what  afflictions 

Were  for  us  design'd. 

Hope  had  sent  her  dove  of  promise 
Far  through  future  years — 

It  return'd  with  drooping  pinions, 
Through  a  mist  of  tears. 


THE  MOTHERLESS   CHILD.  275 

Sweet  Augusta,  thou  didst  leave  us, 

Like  all  loveliest  things ; 
While  we  gazed,  thy  form  was  passing 

On  angelic  wings ! 

But  thy  mem'ry  lingers  round  us, — 

It  can  never  die ! 
Like  a  magic  chain,  it  binds  us 

To  a  holier  sky ! 


THE  MOTHERLESS  CHILD. 
While  in  those  sable  weeds  array'd, 
With  such  a  sweetly  mournful  shade 

On  thy  young  brow, 
Pour  forth  thy  tears  upon  my  breast ; 
Tell  me,  if  not  too  much  distressed, 

Thy  tale  of  woe  ; 
That  flood  of  grief,  so  long  repress'd, 

Now  let  it  flow. 

O,  I  can  join  in  childhood's  glee ! 
I  love  its  merry  laughter  free ; 

But  ah !  I  dread 
To  see  a  shadow  like  a  pall, 
Over  its  cheek  of  roses  fall, 

Whence  joy  has  fled ! 
Tell  me  thy  sorrow,  tell  me  all — 

Dost  mourn  the  dead  ? 


276  FOREST  MELODIES. 

"  Stranger,  I  weep  a  mother  taken 

From  my  embrace,  whose  smiles  could  waken 

A  joyful  gleam 

Along  my  path ;  but  she  has  gone, 
And  from  her  smile  that  joy  has  flown 

Like  a  sweet  dream, 
With  all  the  pleasures  I  have  known — 

How  brief  they  seem ! 

"  0  !  once  I  loved  the  smiling  flowers, 
And  gather'  d,  through  the  summer  hours, 

Their  cups  of  gold ; 
But  'twas  to  win  her  smile  of  love, 
I  search'd  the  meadow,  and  the  grove, 

Where  they  unfold — 
How  can  I  'midst  those  blossoms  rove  ? 

That  smile  is  cold  ! 

"  And,  0  !  I  loved  the  bird-notes  sweet, 
That  used  my  flying  steps  to  greet, 

In  the  green  shade ; 
But  since  I  heard  her  sweet  Farewell, 
Sadly  and  low  the  wood-notes  swell, 

Where  she  was  laid, 
And  gloomy  shadows  long  since  fell 

Where  once  I  play'd. 

"  And  I  am  sad, — at  night  I  weep : 
No  mother  kisses  me  to  sleep, 
Or  lifts  a  prayer 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  TEARS.  2*77 

Above  my  pillow  of  repose ; 

Or  sings  to  me,  at  daylight's  close, 

Some  solemn  air, 
Whose  thrilling  numbers  late  arose 

In  sweetness  there. 

"  Methinks  I  see  at  morning  light, 
And  through  the  watches  of  the  night, 

That  look  so  mild — 
That  mother's  tender  look  of  love, 
It  follows  me  where'er  I  rove, 

That  still,  sad  smile — 
0  !  stoops  she  not  from  heaven  above, 

To  bless  her  child?" 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  TEARS. 

The  last  faint  smile  of  twilight 
"Was  ling'ring  in  the  west, 

And  nature's  harp  of  myriad  strings 
Hung  languidly  at  rest. 

I  rose  from  the  turf  that  covers 
A  brother's  mold'ring  form, 

Where  I  had  just  been  kneeling 
To  plant  a  wild  rose  germ. 

When  lo !  a  step  intrusive 
Among  the  tombs  I  heard, 


278  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  the  still  air  of  evening 

By  a  mourner's  sigh  was  stirr'd. 

An  old  man  stood  before  me, 

Bow'd  'neath  the  weight  of  years  ; 

His  locks  were  thin  and  silvery, 
His  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 

Pointing  to  a  green  hillock, 
Unmark'd  by  flower  or  stone ; 

He  spoke  of  its  lone  tenant, 
His  child,  his  only  one. 

"  Ah !  he  has  left  no  sister 

To  plant  his  grave  with  flowers, 

And  water  them  with  tenderness, 
At  evening's  dewy  hours." 

The  old  man  sobb'd  in  anguish, 
And,  when  he  ceased  to  speak, 

Tears,  bursting  from  concealment, 
Stream'd  down  his  furrow'd  cheek. 

I  wept — I  wept  beside  him, 

Above  his  only  child  ; 
My  own  heart's  grief  forgetting, 

Though  passionately  wild. 

Young  hearts  have  often  shower'd 
My  path  with  scalding  tears, 

Yet  they  glisten'd  with  the  freshness 
Of  the  morning  of  their  years ! 


1841. 


LET  ME   GO.  279 

,  But  the  aged — 0,  the  aged  ! 
How  sad  they  weep  alone, 
When  earthly  ties  are  riven, 

And  earthly  hopes  are  flown  !  Y  . 

Whene'er  my  way  looks  dismal, 

And  hard  my  lot  appears, 
I'll  think  of  that  sad  evening, 

And  of  that  old  man's  tears. 


LEL  ME  GO. 
Let  me  go !  my  heart  is  weary 

Of  this  world  of  sin  and  care  ; 
Cheerless  looks  my  way,  and  dreary, 
Dangers  thick  are  gath'ring  there ; 
Clouds  of  gloom  are  rising  yonder, 

There  the  winds  in  madness  blow — 
Wherefore  should  I  longer  wander  ? 
Let  me  go ! 

Let  me  go  !  this  fond  affection 
May  not  chain  my  soul  to  dust, 

Though  I  find  by  close  inspection 
Here  I  've  placed  too  firm  a  trust : 

Let  me  now  these  fond  ties  sever, 
While  the  tears  in  sadness  flow — 

0,  it  will  not  be  forever ! 
Let  me  go ! 


280  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Let  me  go !  there  lie  before  me 
Worlds,  celestial  worlds  of  light ! 

Even  now  are  bursting  o'er  me 
Floods  of  glory,  O,  how  bright ! 

There,  those  fields  of  bliss  supernal 
With  unfading  beauty  glow — 

There's  the  tree  of  life  eternal : 
Let  me  go ! 


A  BEAUTIFUL  THOUGHT. 

A  child  of  the  missionary's  sickened  and  died.  At  its  bu 
rial,  a  little  brother,  who  had  just  begun  to  lisp  in  the  lan 
guage  of  the  natives,  blended  with  broken  English,  ex 
claimed  with  tears,  "  0,  father,  don't  let  them  plant  it ! 
Don't  let  them  plant  it !" — Evangelist. 

On  a  far  distant  isle,  amid  flashing  southern  seas, 
Where  soft  and  spicy  odours  float  on  the  gentle 

breeze, 
A  mournful  group  had  gather 'd,  a  new-made  grave 

was  there, 
They  buried  in  its  bosom  an  infant  young  and  fair. 

The  parents  wept  in  anguish,  that  lowly  bed  above, 
For,  O !  the  loved  had  fallen,  their  youngest  pledge 

of  love ; 
And  a  little  lisping  prattler  clung  to  his  father's 

hand, 
In  childish  wonder  gazing  upon  the  falling  sand. 


A  STRANGE  WISH.  281 

And  when  they  hid  forever,  that  cherish'd  form 

so  dear, 
His  soft,  blue  eye  he  lifted,  that  glisten'd  through 

a  tear : 
"  Why  do  they  plant  it,  father, — that  lovely  babe 

of  ours  ? 
Why  do  they  plant  my  brother,  as  sister  plants 

the  flowers  ?" 
Ah !  like  the  grain  that  moulders,  awhile  hid  from 

the  sight, 
To  rise  in  life  and  freshness,  more  beautiful  and 

bright ; 

So  that  sweet  bud  of  beauty,  that  germ  of  price 
less  worth, 
Shall  spring  in  all  its  fragrance  from  that  lone  bed 

of  earth. 


A  STRANGE  WISH. 

0,  I  wish  I  had  wings  ! — said  a  lovely  girl, 
As  she  shook  from  her  forehead  a  shadowing  curl, 
And  eagerly  raised  her  beaming  eye, 
That  caught  its  sweet  blue  from  the  arching  sky ; 
Her  cheek  was  flush 'd  and  her  brow  was  pale, 
And  her  form  like  the  passion-flower  was  frail : 
That  morn  she  had  follow'd  the  butterfly's  flight, 
'Till  the  flush  on  her  cheek  had  grown  strangely 
bright, 


282  FOREST   MELO1HK-. 

And  exhausted,  she  sank  beside  me  there, 
As  her  startling  wish  was  breathed  in  my  ear. 

Sweet  child  !  she  has  now  obtain'd  her  wings, 
And  soar'd  away  from  terrestrial  things ; 
Like  the  insect  she  loved,  whose  brilliant  wing 
She  watch'd    and  envied  through  that  bright 

spring ; 

Like  that  she  ceased  to  grovel  on  earth, 
And  obtain'd  a  new  and  a  higher  birth, — 
She  left  the  clay  form  on  immortal  wings, 
And  sought  the  land  where  the  seraph  sings. 


1843. 


SEPARATION. 

Two  beings  at  the  hush  of  day, 
Together  knelt  them  down  to  pray, 

Where  autumn  leaves  were  strewn  ; 
Their  voices  blended  in  the  air, 
While  the  sweet,  fervent  soul  of  prayer 

Ascended  to  the  Throne. 

And  both  were  lovely,  both  were  young, 
And  round  them  each  the  world  had  flung 

Its  soft,  enchanting  power ; 
But  they  had  turn'd  them  from  its  wiles, 
And  sought  the  great  Redeemer's  smiles, 

In  youth's  delightful  hour. 


SEPARATION.  283 

And  long  they  knelt — those  sisters  fair — 
In  the  dim  light,  together  there, 

With  meek  eyes  raised  to  Heaven, 
Till  o'er  their  youthful  foreheads  shone 
A  beam  from  the  departing  sun — 

The  crimson  light  of  even. 

A  year  pass'd  by,  and  one  was  seen 
"With  a  sad  step,  and  solemn  mien, 

Upon  that  spot  again : 
Where  was  the  other,  who  had  pray'd 
With  her  beneath  this  hallow'd  shade — 

That  sweetest,  lovely  friend  ? 

Where  was  she  ?    Ah !  her  steps  had  trod, 
Ere  then,  the  paradise  of  God ; 

And  while  her  friend  below, 
At  the  sweet,  sacred  hour  of  even, 
Was  kneeling  to  implore  from  Heaven 

Strength  for  her  night  of  woe — 

She  sat  in  bliss,  exalted  high, 
Amid  the  angels  of  the  sky, 

Where  trials  are  unknown ; 
She  struck  a  harp  of  living  fire, 
Attuned  for  the  celestial  choir, 

Before  the  eternal  Throne ! 

Thus  were  they  parted — they  who  pray'd 
Together  in  that  sylvan  shade, 


284  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Of  the  same  thought  and  soul— 
Thus  were  they  parted,  one  to  roam 
Still  onward  through  these  clouds  of  gloom, 

And  one  had  reach'd  the  goal. 

Together  had  their  lives  flow'd  on, 
Not  different  since  they  first  begun, 

Alike  in  thought  and  aim — 
Alike  the  hopes  which  filTd  each  breast, 
Alike  their  sorrows  and  unrest, 

And  each  pursuit  the  same. 
But  now  how  different !    One  rernain'd 
Down  to  a  world  of  sorrow  chain'd, 

A  weary  child  of  care — 
The  other,  on  angelic  wing, 
Had  sought  the  clime  where  seraphs  sing, 

And  join'd  their  numbers  there. 

WOOD  NOTES  WILD- 

"  What  makes  you  sad  ?"  he  said,  and  prest 
My  tearful  cheek  close  to  his  breast — 

I  wept,  but  could  not  tell : 
The  luxury  of  tears  was  sweet, 
While  I  could  feel  that  warm  heart  beal, 

And  that  fond  bosom  swell. 
Why  am  I  sad  ?    Dost  thou  ask  why 
There  seems  a  shadow  in  my  eye, 

A  sadness  in  my  tone  ? 


THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD.       285 

"Tis  not  that  I  have  ceased  to  love, 
Or  deem  thou  couldst  unfaithful  prove, 
My  best,  my  dearest  one. 

Not  that  I  am  unhappy  here, 
Yet  let  me  drop  this  silent  tear — 

Thou  wilt  not  be  distress'd, 
To  know  the  mem'ry  of  my  home, 
Of  friends  I  left,  with  thee  to  roam, 

Steals  sometimes  o'er  my  breast. 

The  memory  of  my  mother's  tone, 
Of  pleasant  hours  forever  flown, 

Comes  with  a  sudden  thrill ; 
Wakening  the  chords  about  my  heart 
-Till  the  wild  floods  of  feeling  start, 
And  tears  of  sadness  swell. 

I  know  thou  wilt  not  love  me  less, 

Nor  chide  me  with  harsh  words  for  this — 

It  only  tells  how  dear 
Are  those  within  my  heart  enshrined, 
While  thou  art  tenderly  entwined 

With  every  feelinar  there. 

1848. 

THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  DEAD. 
How  mournfully  sweet  it  glides  o'er  the  soul 
Like  passion's  wave  which  we  cannot  control ! 
It  comes  like  a  cloud  o'er  the  sky  of  mirth, 
Like  a  veil  of  sadness  to  shadow  the  earth. 


286  FOREST  MELODIES. 

It  comes  with  the  breathings  of  early  morn, 
It  comes  when  the  whispers  of  evening  are  born, 
At  the  hush  of  midnight  we  feel  its  power, 
Nor  can  we  escape  at  the  noon-day  hour. 
Softly  subduing  it  touches  the  heart, 
Bidding  the  impulse  of  passion  depart ; 
0,  it  comes  very  oft  like  waves  o'er  the  soul, 
Like  billows  of  sadness  we  cannot  control ! 


1847. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

WHO  GAVE  THE  AUTHOR  A  BOOK  OP  POEMS. 

Friend  of  my  childhood, 
Warm  hearts  are  estranged, 

But  thy  brotherly  kindness 
Remains  unchanged ! 

Shall  I  tell  thee  how  gratefully 

Fell  the  quick  tear, 
On  the  token  of  friendship, 

That  lies  by  me  here  ? 

A  volume  of  poems, 

The  gift  of  a  friend — 
Sure  pleasure  and  gratitude 

Sweetly  shall  blend. 

How  soothing  a  solace 
Doth  kindness  impart, 

When  dark  looks  of  envy- 
Have  long  chilled  the  heart ! 


MY   THEE  HAS  FALLEN.  287 

But  earth's  fierce  jealousies 
Let  us  forget, 
And  turn  to  the  memories 
Lingering  yet, — 

The  mem'ries  of  childhood, 

Of  days  which  have  flown, 
Of  friends  we  have  cherish'd, 

Now  far  from  us  gone. 

Thou  rememberest,  my  friend, 

That  brother  of  mine, 
Whose  heart  in  affection 

Clung  closely  to  thine ! 

Hadst  thou  no  other  claim, 

Yet  for  his  dear  sake, 
Thy  name  should  deep  feelings 

And  fond  thoughts  awake. 

Since  the  days  of  our  childhood 
Fond  hearts  are  estranged, 

But  thy  brotherly  kindness 
Remains  unchanged ! 

1844. 

MY  TREE  HAS  FALLEN. 

My  tree  has  fallen ! — late  it  rose 

In  strength  and  grandeur  toward  the  sky, 

Spreading  aloft  its  beauteous  boughs, 
The  storms  and  tempests  to  defy ; 


288  FOREST  MELODIES. 

How  bright  its  foliage,  rich  and  green ! 

How  sweet  its  cool  refreshing  shade ! 
Tis  fallen  now,  that  beauteous  screen, 

Which  cheer'd  so  oft  my  fainting  head. 

My  tree  has  fallen ! — see,  it  lies 

Broken  and  shiver'd  where  it  fell ! 
This  day  I  saw  the  storm  arise, 

And  heard  the  fitful  tempest  swell ; 
A  fearful  crash  came  on  the  ah*, 

A  darker  cloud  swept  hurrying  by ; 
I  look'd — my  tree  had  fallen  there 

In  all  its  loveliness  to  die. 

My  tree  has  fallen  ! — let  me  weep 
O'er  what  I  loved  so  long  and  well ; 

Sweet  memories,  and  emotions  deep, 

With  sadd'ning  thoughts  my  bosom  swell ; 

The  past,  the  past — its  hallow'd  hours, 
My  fallen  one,  are  link'd  with  thee ; 

Mem'ries,  that  scorn  the  tempest's  power, 

Are  clinging  to  my  fallen  tree. 

k*"fc 

My  tree  has  fallen ! — thus  I've  seen, 

When  the  dread  blast  of  death  swept  by, 

The  young,  the  lovely,  and  the  bright, 
In  all  their  beauty  droop  and  die ! 

I've  wept  above  the  fallen  ones, 

And  wept  till  all  my  tears  were  dry, — 


MY  TREE  HAS  FALLEN.  289 

Affections  crush'd  within  the  tomb, 
And  hopes  beneath  the  loved  ones  lie. 

My  tree  has  fallen ! — spring  will  come  ; 

These  drooping  flowers  will  bloom  again, 
The  fading  foliage  brighten  too, 

And  nature's  choir  awaken  then ; 
But  this  poor  tree  will  rise  no  more  • 

To  catch  the  gentle  zephyr's  sigh, 
To  greet  the  sunshine  or  the  shower, 

For  "  where  it  falleth,  it  shall  lie." 

My  tree  has  fallen ! — let  it  rest, 

It  is  not  thus  with  those  who  die ; 
The  pure,  the  holy,  and  the  blest, 

Shall  live  beyond  our  wintry  sky. 
A  glorious  spring-time  hastens  on — 

Our  fallen  friends  at  length  shall  rise, 
And  hail  with  joy  the  peerless  dawn 

Of  life  eternal  in  the  skies. 

My  tree  has  fallen! — cruel  winds 

Blow  fiercely  on,  nor  cease  to  wail ; 
Crush  all  that's  beautiful  and  bright, 

And  requiems  sing  where  ye  prevail ! 
Ye  fearful  blasts  of  death !  sweep  on 

In  all  your  terror,  all  your  gloom — 
Ye  cannot  blight  th'  immortal  mind, 

Nor  crush  its  hopes  beyond  the  tomb ! 

UH.  10 


290  FOBEST   MELOUiKS. 

SUNRISE. 

See,  each  flower  is  glist'ning  through 
Heavy,  sparkling  gems  of  dew, 

In  the  orient  rays ; 

All  the  boughs  with  pearl-drops  gleam, 
And  the  distant  forests  seem, 
^  *  Like  armed  bands,  to  blaze. 

Lo,  the  bird  is  on  the  wing, 
And  her  matin  numbers  ring 

To  greet  the  day  begun ; 
Freshly  nature  seems  to  wake, 
All  things  of  the  joy  partake 

Which  hails  the  rising  sun. 

1847. 

THE  HAPPIEST  SPOT. 
Ah,  I  have  wander'd  far  and  wide, 

In  eastern  climes  afar, 
And  through  the  breadth  of  our  proud  land 

On  toward  the  setting  star ; 
And  southward  I  have  bent  my  course 

To  lands  of  burning  gold, 
And  stood  where  many  a  grand  old  stream 

Its  mighty  current  rolTd. 
In  storms  and  calms  I  oft  have  gazed 

Upon  the  ocean  flood  ; 
In  storied  fanes  of  classic  land 

With  pleasing  wonder  stood : — 


COME,   BEAUTIFUL  SPRING.  291 

Have  satisfied  my  deep  desire 

To  tread  historic  ground, 
And  now  can  tell  thee  which  appears 

The  brightest  spot  I  Ve  found. 

Say'st  thou,  that  fondly  pleasing  place, 

Where  the  beloved  abide, 
Would  seem  more  fair  to  thy  fond  heart 

Than  all  the  world  beside  ? 
Well,  well  I  know  how  bright  the  sod 

A  loved  one's  foot  hath  press'd, 
And  know  how  sacred  seems  the  place 

Where  the  departed  rest. 

But  let  me  tell  thee,  gentle  friend, 

That  humble  spot  is  best, 
Where  we  may  walk  with  step  serene 

And  with  a  heart  at  rest. 
The  path  where  duty  beckons  us, 

Or  wisdom  casts  our  lot, 
That  is,  of  all  the  wide-spread  earth, 

The  happiest,  sunniest  spot. 


COME  BEAUTIFUL  SPRING. 

Come,  beautiful  spring !  come,  waken  the  flowers, 
And  scatter  thy  fragrance  around  our  way ; 

Dispel  the  dark  cloud  that  around  me  lowers, 
And  shuts  from  my  vision  the  full  beams  of  day. 


292  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Come,  beautiful  spring !  0,  dawn  in  thy  bright 
ness! 

Unrivet  the  chain  that  has  bound  the  sweet  rill ; 
And  bid  it  rush  onward,  and  sing  in  its  lightness, 
And  the  woods  and  the  vales  with  its  Harmony 
fill. 

Come,  beautiful  spring !  and  thy  songsters  awaken, 
Whose  free  gushing  strain  so  entrances  the  ear ; 

Reanimate  nature  so  lone  and  forsaken — 

0  !  come  in  thy  brightness  the  spirit  to  cheer. 

Come,  beautiful  spring !  with  thy  garland  of  roses, 
To  hang  in  their  freshness  around  the  cold  urn, 

Where  the  form  of  the  loved  one  in  darkness  re 
poses — 
0,  beautiful  spring !  in  thy  sweetness  return ! 


MY  SLEEPING  BABE. 

My  sleeping  babe,  an  angel's  wing 

Above  thy  form  is  spread, 
A  sweetness  round  thy  face  to  fling, 

A  blessing  on  thy  head. 

A  tear  is  on  thy  lily  cheek, 

From  the  fringed  eyelid  press'd — 

A  sorrow,  which  thou  couldst  not  speak, 
Has  yielded  now  to  rest. 


MY  SLEEPING  BABE.  293 

0,  if  these  tiny  feet  of  thine 
Shall  tread  life's  pathway  far, 

More  bitter  woes  thou'lt  surely  find 
Thy  bosom's  peace  to  mar. 

Thy  sorrow,  0  my  precious  one  ! 

How  trifling  it  must  be, 
When  e'en  thy  mother's  smile  alone 

Can  make  the  shadows  flee ! 

I  gaze  upon  these  early  tears, 
And  think  how  dark  and  deep 

Will  be  the  surge  of  after  years, 
That  o'er  thy  soul  must  sweep. 

And  trembling  at  each  frowning  ill, 

That  lies  along  thy  way, 
Here  by  thy  cradle,  lone  and  still, 

I  kneel  me  down  to  pray. 

0  thou,  who  gav'st  the  treasure  fair, 

I  yield  her  back  to  thee, 
And  ask  that  thou,  through  doubt  and  care, 

Her  blessed  Guide  mayst  be ! 

Conduct  her  to  that  sacred  clime 

Of  innocence  and  peace, 
Where  all  the  gloomy  storms  of  time 

Forever  more  shall  cease. 

1849. 


294  FOREST  MELODIES. 


THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

"  Those  evening  bells — those  evening  bells ! 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells !"    T.  MOORE. 

O'er  the  blue  waves   of    Shannon's  peaceful 
stream, 

A  stranger  came  at  close  of  summer  day  ; 
And  saw  the  turrets  of  the  city  gleam 

Like  burnish'd  gold  in  the  clear  sunset's  ray. 

Mild  were  the  glorious  skies  that  arch'd  above, 
And  soft  the  whisp'ring  of  the  gentle  air, 

And  bright  the  verdure  of  the  shore  and  grove, 
For  Summer's  perfumed  hand  was  resting  there. 

O'er  the  lone  wand'rer  came  a  ray  of  bliss, 
For  he  was  from  Italia's  sunlit  plains, 

And  thoughts  of  home  stole  o'er  his  loneliness, 
Thoughts  of  its  storied  vaults,  and  ivied  fanes. 

He  sat  with  thoughtful  brow  and  head  reclined, 
In  listless  silence  musing  o'er  the  past ; 

But  hark  ! — those  evening  bells  in  solemn  chime, 
Peal  to  his  ear,  and  startle  him  at  last ! 

He  trembled  as  if  something  moved  his  soul, 
Then,  leaning  backward,  motionless  he  lay ; 

Before  the  light-sped  vessel  reach'd  its  goal, 
The  lonely  wand'rer's  spirit  pass'd  away. 


A    DIVINE    PROMISE .  295 

What  was  there  in  the  sound  of  those  sweet  bells, 
Which  loosed  the  spirit  from  its  house  of  clay  ? 

Why  should  death's  angel  come  in  those  deep 

swells, 
To  meet  his  soul,  and  summon  it  away  ? 

This  poor,  unhappy,  weeping  child  of  Art 
Was  so  mistreated  in  the  world  below, 

That  pitying  Death  would  use  no  harsher  dart, 
Than  the  soft  music  he  had  taught  to  flow. 

May,  1848. 

A  DIVINE  PROMISE. 

"  And  he  said,  My  presence  shall  go  with  thee,  and  I  will 
give  thee  rest."    Exod.  xxxiii,  14:. 

A  pilgrim  by  life's  wayside, 

I  paused  awhile  at  morn, 
And,  viewing  the  dim  future, 

I  sat,  and  wept  forlorn ; 
When  lo  !  a  voice  of  music 

Broke  on  my  troubled  ear ; 
It  floated  down  in  sweetness 

From  yon  celestial  sphere ! 
It  was  this  precious  promise, 

Of  which  I'd  been  in  quest, — 
"  My  presence  shall  go  with  thee, 

And  I  will  give  thee  rest." 


296  FOREST  MELODIES. 

I  hasten'd  then,  delighted, 

Upon  my  pilgrim  way — 
Where  all  before  was  darkness, 

Now  broke  the  light  of  day  ! 
Although  my  path  is  thorny, 

And  skies  are  often  drear, 
Yet  basks  my  tranquil  spirit 

In  sunlight  always  clear ; 
While  the  same  promise  stealeth 

Like  whispers  from  the  bless'd, — 
"  My  presence  shall  go  with  thee, 

And  I  will  give  thee  rest." 

I  gaze  o'er  death's  cold  river, 

Which  lies  before  me  now, 
And  shadows,  dark  with  sadness, 

Hang  o'er  my  heart  and  brow. 
I  see  the  clime  eternal, 

Which  those  rough  billows  lave  , 
And  know  my  soul  must  struggle 

In  the  mysterious  wave — 
Then,  then  this  sacred  promise 

Brings  gladness  to  my  breast, — 
"  My  presence  shall  go  with  thee, 

And  I  will  give  thee  rest." 


TO    WINTER.  297 

TO  WINTER. 

Farewell,  Winter !  if  we  ever 

Meet  again  as  we  have  met, 
I  will  strive,  at  thy  departure, 

To  have  nothing  to  regret. 

Farewell,  Winter  !  thou  hast  left  us, 
But  we  will  not  mourn  thy  flight ; 

Long  and  dark  have  been  thy  tempests, 
Cold  and  frequent,  day  and  night. 

Ah !  thine  hours  were  long  and  heavy, — 
How  they  bore  the  spirit  down  ! 

Winter, — fearful,  dismal  Winter, — 
We  rejoice  to  find  thee  gone  ! 

Spring-  is  coming,  and  we  fancy 

She  will  strew  our  way  with  flowers  ; 

Long  have  we  been  sweetly  dreaming 
Of  her  bright  and  sunny  bowers ! 

If  I  tarry  through  the  summer, 

I  will  be  prepared  to  meet 
All  thy  dread,  returning  darkness, 

Angry  winds  and  stormy  sleet. 

Farewell,  Winter !  if  we  ever 

Meet  again  as  we  have  met, 
I  will  strive,  at  thy  departure, 

To  have  nothing  to  regret. 


1847. 


298  FOREST  MELODIES. 

OTHER  DAYS. 

Oft  their  mem'ry  comes  around  me 
Like  a  strain  of  music  low, 

And  the  sudden  gush  of  feeling 
Bids  my  tears  in  torrents  flow. 

In  a  moment  fancy  bears  me 
Back  to  scenes  forever  fled ; 

And  I  listen  to  sweet  voices 
Which  are  hush'd  among  the  dead. 

And  I  tread  again  the  pathway 

Which  in  early  life  I  trod, 
With  the  friends  who  now  are  sleeping 

'Neath  the  flower-besprinkled  sod. 

Once  the  world  look'd  bright  and  lovely, 
And  my  heart  was  glad  and  free 

As  the  sky-lark's  airy  pinions, 
Or  the  ever-roving  bee. 

But  though  free,  and  glad,  and  happy, 
I  had  no  such  earthly  bliss, 

As  since  then  I've  found  upspringing, — 
Fountains  in  life's  wilderness. 

Yet  anon,  the  days  that  vanish, 
Like  the  streams  that  wander  by, 

Will  come  back  in  memory 
And  o'ercloud  my  sky. 


THIS   WORLD    OF    OURS.  299 


THIS  WORLD  OF  OURS. 

0  !  there  is  something  strangely,  sweetly  bright, 
In  every  dew-drop,  and  each  ray  of  light, 

Which  sends  a  thrill 

Deep  through  the  quick'ning  pulses  of  the  soul ; 
And  waves  of  wild  delight,  above  control, 

O'erwhelm  the  will. 

This  deep  and  holy  charm  is  in  the  sky, 
And  in  the  zephyr  passing  calmly  by, 
Or  wild  winds  free  ; 

1  see  it  resting  on  the  turf  and  flowers — 
Tell  me,  sad  stranger !  is  this  world  of  ours 

As  bright  to  thee  ? 

"  Ah  !  there  are  beauties  which  my  heart  can 

trace — 
Charms,  which  the  hand  of  grief  can  ne'er  efface 

From  earth  or  sky ; 

But  yet  they  waken  in  this  breast  of  mine 
Less  of  the  gushing  joy  which  gladdens  thine — 

Perchance,  a  sigh ! 

"  Sometimes  a  veil  of  darkness  seems  to  rest, 
Perhaps  a  shadow  from  my  own  dark  breast, 
On  all  things  here  ; 


300  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Then  all  I  gaze  upon,  however  bright, 
In  nature's  fields  of  harmony  and  light, 
Calls  forth  a  tear. 

"It  was  not  thus  ere  death  had  cross'd  my 

path  ; 
Ere  life's  tremendous  storms,  in  all  their  wrath, 

Burst  o'er  my  head, — 
It  was  not  thus,  for  I  remember  well, 
When  from  the  sunny  stream  and  flowery  dell, 

No  ray  had  fled. 

"The  fragrant  flowers  must  now    be  just  as 

bright, 
And  just  as  rich  the  sunset's  mellow  light ; 

But  o'er  them  all 

There  seem  to  gather  vapours  of  thick  gloom- 
Yea,  on  the  bosom  of  earth's  sweetest  bloom, 

There  seems  a  pall ! 

"  See  now,  the  summer's  beauties  all  have  flown, 
And  autumn's  pensive  smiles  have  left  us  lone  ! 

But  Faith's  clear  eye 

Looks  upward  to  a  land  where  fadeless  flowers, 
And  hopes,  more  sweet  than  cheer  this  world 
of  ours, 

Shall  never  die. 


TRUE   FRIENDSHIP.  301 

TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 
I  wander'd  forth  at  eventide, 

And  in  the  arch  of  night 
Two  little  starlets  I  descried, 
Which,  trembling  sweetly  side  by  side, 

Blended  their  mellow  light. 

And  then  I  thought  of  friendship  here 

In  this  sad  world  of  gloom : 
Thus  'tis  with  friends  of  heart  sincere, — 
Each  helps  the  other's  path  to  cheer, 

Making  life's  desert  bloom. 

I  saw  two  flowers  of  modest  sheen, 

Which  grew  and  bloom'd  together, 

And,  smiling  still  the  same,  were  seen 

All  sweetly  wreathed  in  tender  green, 

Through  storm  and  sunny  weather. 

And  thus  methought,  e'en  thus  with  friends 

Of  spirit  kind  and  true, — 
They  to  each  other  sweetness  lend, 
Their  virtues  and  their  talents  blend, 

Like  blossoms  of  one  hue. 

Friendship — it  is  a  priceless  gem, 

Of  pure,  intrinsic  worth ; 
A  poet's  richest  diadem, 
A  star  whose  lustre  ne'er  grows  dim, 

A  fadeless  flower  of  earth. 


302  FOREST   MELODIES. 

Yet,  Susan,  dear,  however  sweet 

True  friendship's  links  are  twined, 
To  render  them  still  more  complete, 
O,  let  us  at  the  Saviour's  feet 
The  sacred  offering  bind. 


B47. 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  CHILD. 

Snows  were  falling  thick  and  dismal ; 

Winds  were  howling  sadly  by ; 
Clouds  of  deepest  gloom  were  sailing 

Fearfully  along  the  sky. 

In  a  far  off,  lonely  dwelling, 
List'ning  to  the  tempest  wild, 

Sat  a  mother  sadly  silent, 
Gazing  on  her  only  child. 

Glad  she  was  to  see  him  silent, 
For  his  busy,  prattling  tongue 

Had  her  fond,  maternal  bosom 
With  the  deepest  anguish  wrung. 

He  had  talk'd  of  days  of  sunshine, 
When  his  father's  step  would  come, 

At  the  stilly  hour  of  evening, 

Flinging  gladness  round  their  home ; 

When  his  voice  was  always  cheerful, 
When  he  smiled  and  kiss'd  his  sou— 


FOREBODINGS. 


"  But,"  he  said,  "  those  days  of  gladness 
Now  are  gone,  forever  gone." 

As  he  spoke,  he  turn'd  his  blue  eye 
Upward  to  his  mother's  face  — 

Then  she  saw  a  noble  feeling 
Struggling  there,  above  disgrace. 

"  Are  you  weeping,  dearest  mother  ? 

This  I  cannot,  cannot  bear  ! 
Though  with  shame  and  scorn  I  struggle, 

Yet  I  cannot  brook  thy  tear  ! 

"  Yesterday  I  met  my  playmates  — 
0,  how  tauntingly  they  smiled  ! 

Pointed  at  my  tatter'd  garments, 
Calling  me  a  drunkard's  child  ! 

"  I  can  brave  my  mates'  reviling  ; 

Poverty  and  scorn  I  '11  bear  ; 
All  my  father's  cruel  curses  — 

But  I  cannot  brook  thy  tear  !" 


1845. 


FOREBODINGS. 

Autumn's  wing  is  o'er  me, 
Hazy,  calm,  and  mild ; 

Winter  is  before  me, 
With  its  tempests  wild. 


304  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Farther  on  is  glowing 
Spring's  enchanting  light, 

And  her  breath  is  wooing 
Hill  and  valley  bright. 

Spring !  I  may  not  meet  thee 
When  the  storms  are  gone— 

I  shall  never  greet  thee 
On  the  verdant  lawn ! 

I  must  pass  forever 

From  this  land  of  bloom, 

And  thy  breath  of  fervour 
Steal  around  my  tomb. 

Autumn's  wing  is  o'er  me, 
Hazy,  calm,  and  mild ; 

Whiter  is  before  me 
With  its  tempests  wild. 

Thus  death's  frigid  winter 
Lies  before  me  now  ; 

Soon  his  wing  of  terror 
Will  o'erspread  my  brow. 

But  a  spring-time  glorious 
Waits  me  in  yon  clime ; 
I  shall  be  victorious 

Over  Death  and  Time. 

Ml 


A  LADY  TO   HER    HUSBAND.  305 

A  LADY  TO  HER  HUSBAND. 
Husband,  when  you  said,  "  Good-night," 

Tears  had  gather'd  in  my  eye ; 
Sorrow  choked  my  utterance  quite, 

When  I  strove  to  make  reply. 

'Twas  not  for  myself  I  fear'd, 
Though  my  sky  might  never  be 

By  a  prosperous  sun-beam  cheer'd, 
But  I  felt,  I  felt  for  thee. 

And  that  night,  when  all  alone, 
Watching  while  our  children  slept , 

Where  the  placid  moonlight  shone, 
Long  for  thee  I  pray'd  and  wept. 

Thou  hast  told  me  oft,  my  dear, 
That  thy  grief  was  all  for  me ; 

But  undaunted  I  could  bear 
The  severest  poverty. 

While  thy  forehead  wears  a  calm, 
And  thine  eye  a  happy  light — 

Though  amid  the  darkest  storm, 
If  thou  'rt  cheerful,  all  is  bright. 

O,  then,  let  the  storm  blow  o'er ! 

Drive  its  shadows  from  thy  heart ! 
And  remember  evermore, 

I  am  happy  while  thou  art. 
20 


806  FOREST  MELODIES. 

/"      -    .     ': 

DREAMS. 

Do  they  not  shadow  forth 

The  soul's  immortal  birth  ? 
Do  they  not  whisper  of  a  wondrous  doom  ? 

These  busy  dreams  of  ours 

Show  that  the  mind  has  powers 
Which  must  survive  the  terrors  of  the  tomb. 

We  sleep,  but  busy  thought 

Seeks  out  the  hallow'd  spot 
Which  those  we  dearly  love  are  treading  now ; 

Our  hearts  again  rejoice, 

We  listen  to  the  voice, 
And  gaze  upon  the  dear,  unalter'd  brow. 

We  hold  communion  sweet 

With  hearts  that  fondly  beat, 
Throbbing  for  us  in  this  cold  world  of  woe : 

0  happy,  happy  dreams  ! 

Sending  forth  blissful  gleams, 
Ye  make  our  waking  path  with  beauty  glow, 

Ah,  yes !  ye  shadow  forth 

The  soul's  immortal  birth, 
Surely  ye  whisper  of  a  life  to  come ; 

Where  restless  souls  like  ours 

May  try  their  wondrous  powers, 
Powers  that  defy  the  terrors  of  the  tomb. 


THE  UNSEEN   WORLD.  307 

THE  UNSEEN  WORLD. 
Where  is  that  unseen  world  afar, 

From  whence  no  tidings  ever  come  ? 
We  meet  the  light  of  many  a  star, 

Which   long   has   travel'd  through  the 
gloom,  1 

But  not  one  ray  from  that  far  clime 

Has  ever  reach'd  our  wishful  eye, 
To  tell  us  of  that  sphere  sublime, 

Which  mortals  call  eternity. 

Where  is  that  unseen  world  ? — 0  where 

That  land  with  boundless  visions  fraught  ? 
It  must,  it  must  be  stretching  far 

Beyond  the  sphere  of  human  thought ; 
For  I  remember,  many  a  guest 

Has  left  us  for  that  unknown  shore — 
Full  many  a  wanderer,  in  quest 

Of  higher  joy,  returns  no  more ! 

Friends,  ardent  friends,  we  long  have  sought, 

Wander  amidst  the  darkness  there — 
We  call — but  0,  they  answer  not ! 

Where  is  the  spirit-land — O  where  ? 
One  after  one  has  pass'd  away, 

Launching  his  bark  on  death's  cold  river ; 
But,  thanks  to  God  !  the  soul,  they  say, 

The  immortal  soul  survives  forever. 


ms. 


308  FOREST   MELODIES. 


MY  FATHER  HAS  COME. 

[During  a  fearful  tempest,  in  the  absence  of  her  father, 
my  little  daughter  came  to  me  flushed  with  animation,  and 
clapping  her  hands,  exclaimed:  "  My  pa  come!  My  papa 
come  !  0  mamma!  my  pa  has  come."] 

'Tis  so,  my  love,  though  in  thine  eye 
The  tears  of  disappointment  glisten  ; 

Though  for  that  step  and  voice  so  dear 
Thou  didst  so  long  and  vainly  listen. 

Though  dear  papa,  with  happy  smile, 
May  not,  as  is  his  wont,  caress  tkee ; 

Yet  thy  great  Father  in  the  storm 

Is  near  to-night,  and  near  to  bless  thee. 

Hark  !  even  now  along  the  cloud 
I  hear  his  chariot  wheels  advancing  ; 

His  voice  is  in  the  tempest  loud, 

His  lightning  through  the  darkness  glancing. 

And  happy  wilt  thou  be,  my  dear, 
If  in  the  stormy  way  before  thee, 

While  folding  clouds,  so  cold  and  drear, 
Are  hanging  sternly,  darkly  o'er  thee — 

0  !  happy  wilt  thou  be,  sweet  child, 
If  in  affliction's  night  of  sadness, 

Thou  say'st,  "  My  heavenly  Father 's  near," 
With  such  a  startled  smile  of  gladness. 

April.  1811. 


THE    AWAKENING.  309 

THE   AWAKENING. 
Nature  awakens :  with  the  soft  spring  air, 
New  life  is  starting  forth  everywhere  ! 
Yon  winding  streamlet,  mute  so  long, 
Breaks  forth  again  in  a  free  wild  song  ; 
Down  on  its  margin  the  moss  crest  is  bright, 
As  it  peers  again  from  its  wintry  night. 

The  bird  is  out  on  its  joyous  wing, 
Catching  the  pure  inspiration  of  spring  ; 
And  the  murm'ring  bee  has  commenced  its  flight, 
Its  patient  "  search  amid  all  things  bright ;" 
On  every  breeze  new  harmony  floats, 
The  air  is  alive  with  gladsome  notes. 

Shall  nature  inanimate  waken  again, 

New  life  and  beauty  spread  over  the  plain  ? 

Shall  all  around  us  be  vocal  with  song, 

All  eager  the  choral  praise  to  prolong, 

And  the  human  heart,  'mid  the  wak'ning  of  spring, 

Be  the  only  dormant  and  tuneless  thing  ? 

Shall  the  soul  that  boasts  of  such  lofty  powers, 
Such  a  limitless  range  through  this  world  of  ours ; 
That  can  fly  through  the  infinite  halls  of  space, 
And  number  and  measure  the  worlds  where  it 

strays — 

Shall  a  soul  like  this,  'mid  the  spring  time's  glee, 
Be  weigh'd  to  the  dust  in  despondency  ? 


310  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Has  wintry  death  o'er  thy  path  been  sweeping  ? 
Are  those  thou  hast  loved  in  its  darkness  sleeping  ? 
Dost  thou  weep  that  the  beautiful  flowers  spring 

forth, 

And  awak'ning  melodies  gladden  the  earth, 
While  voices  long  hush'd  in  the  silence  of  death, 
Shall  wake  not  again  with  the  sweet  spring's 

breath  ? 

Look  up  at  that  bow  in  the  heart's  clear  sky, 
That  pledge  of  the  soul's  immortality ! 
It  glows  'neath  the  clouds  that  envelop  thee  here, 
The  gospel — it  speaks  of  a  deathless  sphere  ! 
Then  arise  !  arise  with  the  gladsome  spring, 
And  partake  of  the  joyous  awakening. 


1845. 


TO   THEOPHILUS. 

I've  a  home  of  still  seclusion, 
Where  I  sit  me  down  to  write, 

Far  from  hurry  and  confusion, 
In  the  dim  and  curtain'd  light. 

And  this  home  is  peaceful,  happy, 
Not  a  jar  of  discord  here — 

Yet  to-day  I'm  sadly  musing 
With  a  slowly  falling  tear : 

Thinking  of  the  home  of  childhood, 
Where  my  earlier  springs  have  smiled 


THE    YOUNG    WIDOW.  311 

Thinking  of  that  pleasant  wildwood, 
Where  I  play'd  a  joyful  child  : 

Thinking  of  my  home,  my  mother, 
Of  the  faces  round  that  hearth — 

0 !  my  brother,  dearest  brother, 
'Tis  the  brightest  spot  on  earth ! 

But  though  brightest,  there's  one  other, 
Where  I  love  the  best  t'  abide — 

'Tis  with  him,  my  dearest  brother, 
Who  has  took  me  to  his  side. 

April.  1848. 


THE  YOUNG  WIDOW. 

"  There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts, 

That  finds  not  here  an  end." — MONTGOMERY. 

Dost  thou  believe  it,  lonely  one, 
Hanging  o'er  that  marble  stone  ? 
Dost  thou  think  that  death  can  sever, 
Ties  so  strongly  form'd  forever  ? 
Dost  thou  believe  that  union  sweet 

Ended  in  his  grave  ? 
And  that  ye  shall  never  meet 

Over  Jordan's  wave  ? 

I  saw  a  lovely  infant  press 'd 

In  anguish  to  thy  throbbing  breast, 


312  FOREST    MELODIES. 

And  heard  thee  say,  "  My  child,  my  child, 
On  thee  a  father  hath  not  smiled  ! 
A  father's  kiss  thou  shalt  not  know, 

My  dearest,  sweetest  one — 
Ah !  who  shall  guide  thy  steps  below, 

My  son,  my  son !" 

Thy  sorrowing  grief  how  wild  and  deep, 
As  bitterly  I  saw  thee  weep ; 
And  yet,  methinks,  from  all  thy  grief 
Thou  wouldst  have  scorn'd  to  seek  relief, 
If  thou  hadst  felt  in  that  dark  hour 

The  fearful  thought  arise, 
That  cruel  death  possess'd  the  power 

To  break  those  ties. 

The  grave  hath  never  yet  confined 
The  thinking,  loving,  deathless  mind  ! 
The  casket  soon  in  dust  may  lie, 
But  can  our  sweet  affections  die  ? 
Let  no  such  thought  its  darkness  throw 

Around  thy  heart  oppress'd — 
It  should  not  cause  one  pang  of  woe 

In  thy  sad  breast. 

O !  while  thou  mourn'st  the  loved  and  blest, 
Longing  to  find  his  place  of  rest ; 
Remember  thine  affections  pure 
Shall  ever,  evermore  endure  ! 


JESUS    SMILES.  313 

Death  cannot  break  the  blissful  tie, 
That's  form'd  in  heaven  ; 

A  union,  seal'd  by  the  Most  High, 
Cannot  be  riven. 

1846. 

JESUS  SMILES, 

Jesus  smiles,  and  earth  is  bright 
With  the  purest,  holiest  light : 

What  though  clouds  our  sky  overspread ! 
What  though  storms  around  us  lower ! 
Beauty  will  be  o'er  us  shed, 
Sweetness  every  passing  hour. 

Talk  of  nature's  fairest  charm, 
When  the  summer's  breath  is  calm — 
Ah !  without  the  Saviour's  smile, 

Earth  would  be  most  sad  and  drear ! 
It  would  seem  a  barren  wild, 
With  no  sunny  ray  to  cheer. 

Jesus  smiles,  and  o'er  the  soul 
Streams  of  heavenly  sweetness  roll ; 
Earthly  care  must  fly  away, 

When  such  peace  the  soul  pervades ; 
Earthly  sorrow  cannot  stay, 
But  disperseth  like  the  shades. 

Jesus  smiles,  and  death  appears 
But  the  end  of  all  our  fears  : 


314  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Not  a  shade  of  darkness  seems 

Gath'ring  o'er  the  grave  before  us ; 

For  the  star  of  Bethlehem  beams, 
With  a  sacred  radiance  o'er  us. 

Jesus  smiles,  and  o'er  our  way 
Streams  of  sunbright  glory  play ; 
And  the  fields  of  promise  shine 

Far  beyond  death's  rolling  flood, 
Where  the  soul  its  joy  may  find 
In  the  presence  of  its  God. 

0 !  there  's  nothing  sweet  as  this, 

Nothing  yields  such  sacred  bliss, 

As  the  light  of  Jesus'  smile, 

In  this  world  of  care  and  gloom : 
Father,  cheer  thine  erring  child 
With  its  radiance  to  the  tomb  ! 

Oct.  1848. 

THE  DYING  SAINT. 
Morning's  rosy  light  is  streaming 

Round  my  restless  pillow  now, 
See  the  soft  effulgence  gleaming 

Brightly  o'er  my  pallid  brow. 

Odorous  breezes,  richly  laden, 
Whisper  sweetly  near  my  bed, 

And  all  nature  seems  to  gladden 

'Neath  the  sweet  Spring's  music-tread. 


PRAY    FOR   ME.  315 

All  is  bright,  but  I  no  longer 

On  these  charms  may  feast  mine  eye  ; 
There's  a  holier  bond,  and  stronger, 

Draws  my  spirit  to  the  sky. 

Surely  earth  has  cast  its  brightness 
Richly  o'er  my  wearied  heart, 

And  my  soul  has  felt  the  lightness 
Which  its  buoyant  hopes  impart. 

But  far  deeper,  holier  feelings 
Draw  me  gently  up  to  heaven, 

For  the  Spirit's  rich  revealings 
Have  unto  my  soul  been  given. 

List !  I  hear  the  secret  calling 

Of  a  blest  and  viewless  band, 
Who,  when  death's  dark  mists  are  falling, 

Shall  escort  me  to  that  land. 

That  bright  realm,  unseen  by  mortals, 

Yet  by  faith  so  often  trod, 
Opens  now  its  dazzling  portals, 

And  I  haste  to  meet  my  God. 

348. 

PRAY   FOR   ME. 
"Pray  for  me" — a  tender  tone 

Whisper'd  in  my  ear ; 
When  I  knew  that  step  was  gone, 

Quickly  gush'd  the  tear. 


810  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  I  raised  my  heart  to  God, 
Overwhelm'd  with  feeling, 

While  affection's  tearful  flood 
Down  my  cheek  was  stealing. 

Dearest  one  !  to  pray  for  thee 

How  could  I  omit, 
When  in  such  delightful  bonds 

Thy  soul  with  mine  is  knit ! 

And,  whene'er  thy  heart  ascends 
To  the  Father's  throne, 

Wilt  thou  think  of  me,  and  blend 
My  interests  with  thine  own  ? 

We  are  fully  one  hi  heart, 

One  we  still  shall  be  ; 
And  till  life  itself  depart 

I  will  pray  for  thee. 

Oct.  1848. 

THE  EAENEST  OF  OUR  INHERITANCE, 
Thou  may'st  find  it  when  a  shadow 

Rests  upon  the  earth  and  sky, 
At  the  stilly  hour  of  twilight, 

When  the  winds  go  murm'ring  by. 

Seek  some  place  of  sweet  seclusion, 
When  the  voice  of  care  is  still, 

And  the  stormy  waves  of  passion 
Cease  to  overwhelm  the  will. 


A    CHANGE.  817 

Let  thy  spirit  from  its  fulness 

There  unburthen  all  its  load  ; 
Freely  pouring  forth  in  secret, 

All  its  deep  desires  to  God. 

Then  the  earnest  of  the  Spirit 
May  unto  thy  soul  be  given — 

The  seal  of  thine  inheritance, 
The  "  signet  seal  of  Heaven." 

Thou  may'st  find  it  when  a  shadow 
Rests  upon  the  earth  and  sky, 

At  the  stilly  hour  of  twilight, 
When  the  zephyrs  murmur  by. 

A  CHANGE- 

Again  I  sought  the  friendly  hearth, 
That  once  resounded  with  the  mirth 

Of  childhood's  thoughtless  heart; 
That  sacred  fireside  where  I  met 
The  friends,  whose  mem'ry  lingers  yet, 

And  will  not  soon  depart. 

A  happy  group  once  gather'd  there : 
I  've  mingled  with  them  when  at  prayer, 

Before  their  altar  bow'd ; 
I  Ve  joined  them  many  a  happy  hour — 
Ah,  mem'ry  speaks  with  thrilling  power ! 

How  fast  her  visions  crowd ! 


318  FOREST  MELODIES. 

How  oft  the  school-room's  bustling  airs, 
And  weary  thoughts,  and  anxious  cares, 

Have  been  forgotten  here ; 
This  social  hearth-stone  had  a  charm, 
A  pleasing  smile,  a  soothing  balm, 

The  drooping  heart  to  cheer. 

The  eldest  girl — I  see  her  now 
With  smiling  lip,  and  cheerful  brow, 

As  she  was  wont  to  shine ; 
The  happiest  of  a  youthful  throng, 
She  had  so  rich  a  gift  for  song, 

It  seem'd  almost  divine. 

But  now  that  hearth  was  sad  and  lone — 
I  miss'd  Louisa's  cheerful  tone, 

For  death  had  claim'd  his  prey ; 
But  sweeter  seem'd  the  song  she  sung, 
Since  death  had  still'd  her  tuneful  tongue, 

And  borne  her  form  away. 

Was  there  no  other  change  than  this — 
One  spirit  gone  to  realms  of  bliss  ? 

Then  why  that  deep  despair 
Impress'd  upon  the  father's  brow  ? 
Why  should  the  mother  languish  low, 

Sick  with  corroding  care  ? 
Another  form  I  miss'd  that  day — 
A  son,  a  brother  far  away, 

Within  a  prison's  wall ! 


1845. 


TO   MRS.    MARY   GIFFItf.  319 

0,  had  he  like  his  sister  died, 
Were  he  but  sleeping  by  her  side, 
They  could  have  borne  it  all ! 

But,  dead  to  virtue,  lost  in  guilt 
Surely  the  parents'  heart-strings  felt 

A  pang  unknown  before ; 
Fiercer  than  that  which  rends  the  heart, 
When  those  we  dearly  love  depart, 

As  life's  last  hopes  are  o'er. 

Strange  gloom  had  o'er  that  circle  spread : 
No  cheerful  tone,  no  gladsome  tread — 

Even  childhood  check'd  its  glee, 
As  if  a  step  too  light  would  start 
The  dagger  to  the  parents'  heart, 

And  wake  their  misery. 

O,  fearful  change !    I  may  not  now 
Paint  the  dire  thoughts  which  pain'd  my 
brow, 

And  burn'd  within  my  breast : 
I  left  the  threshold — but  the  scene, 
The  picture  I  beheld  within, 

Was  on  my  heart  imprest. 


TO  MRS.  MARY  GIFFIN. 

What  theme  shall  wake  the  warblings  of  my  lyre  ? 
What  muse  shall  tune  it  with  poetic  fire, 
While  I  shall  sing  for  thee  ? 


820  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Were  I  to  catch  some  glowing  thoughts  of  earth, 
And  pour  the  rising  numbers  wildly  forth 
In  richest  harmony — 

They  would  not  charm,  methinks,  thy  list'ning  ear, 
But  thou  wouldst  choose  of  Jesus'  love  to  hear, 

Of  Jesus'  wondrous  name : — 
O  then,  blest  Spirit !  tune  my  heart  with  fire, 
And  with  thy  breathings  animate  my  lyre, 

And  touch  my  pen  with  flame. 

Thou  know'st,  my  friend,  religion's  sacred  power, 
Hast  proved  its  sweetness  in  the  sorrowing  hour. 

And  in  the  prosp'rous  day ; 
Thou  knowest  well  the  spirit-cheering  light, 
Which  heav'nly  hope  sheds  through  time's  trou 
bled  night, 

Along  the  "  narrow  way" 

And  thou  hast  felt,  while  at  the  altar  kneeling, 
A  heavenly  radiance  o'er  the  spirit  stealing, 

Dispelling  earthly  care ; 

The  unbound  soul  has  seem'd  released  from  earth, 
While  pouring  its  high  supplications  forth 

In  the  lone  place  of  prayer. 

O !  there  is  something  in  religion's  light, 
Which  links  the  soul  with  all  things  pure  and 

bright, 
And  bids  it  look  away, 


COME,  LET  US  GO  TO  HEAVEN.    -  321 

Beyond  the  storms  and  clouds  of  earthly  care, 
To  a  sweet  clime  most  beautiful  and  fair, 
Where  shines  a  cloudless  day. 

Then  let  us  fix  the  eye  of  faith  above, 
And  while  we  triumph  in  a  Saviour's  love, 

Prepare  for  that  bright  shore ; 
Where  friends,  long  parted  on  the  coast  of  time, 
Shall  meet  and  mingle  in  a  strain  sublime, 

And  sigh  "FarewtU"  no  more. 

1848. 

COME,  LET  US  GO  TO  HEAVEN. 
Come,  let  us  go  to  heaven : — this  home  of  ours 
Is  lash'd  by  rough  waves  dashing  'gainst  the 

shore ; 
Here  frosts  of  autumn  chill  the  summer  flowers, 

And  here  the  stormy  tempests  fiercely  roar ! 
Come,  let  us  haste — 'tis  time  we  were  away, 
These  threat'ning  clouds  forbid  a  longer  stay. 

Come,  let  us  go  to  heaven : — our  pathway  lies 
Close  by  the  Cross,  a  lowly,  narrow  way, 

Yet  lighted  up  with  glory  from  the  skies, 
'Tis  radiant  with  a  full,  eternal  day ! 

O  !  let  us  seek  at  once  this  narrow  path, 

Safe  from  the  winds  of  woe,  the  storms  of  wrath. 

Come,  let  us  go  to  heaven : — it  is  a  land 
More  beautiful  than  ever  met  the  sight — 
21 


322  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Soft  breezes  blow  along  that  blissful  strand, 

And  its  pure  river  lies  in  sacred  light ; 
And  far  along  those  ever-radiant  sides, 
Sweet  strains  of  heavenly  harmony  arise. 

Come,  let  us  go  to  heaven : — the  restless  mind 
Longs  to  be  ranging  on  that  blissful  shore ; 

0,  let  it  drop  its  mortal  garb  behind, 

Seize  its  bright  pinions,  and  begin  to  soar ! 

Come,  ye  blest  guard — come,  ye  angelic  band, 

And  waft  our  spirits  to  that  heavenly  land. 

Feb.,  1848. 


A  CRADLE  SONG, 

Hush'd  is  the  sound  of  laughter  now, 

And  the  childlike  waitings  cease, 
While  over  the  lip,  and  on  the  brow 

Has  fallen  a  smile  of  peace : 
Forgotten  now  is  the  frolic  play, 

Her  little  griefs  are  forgot ; 
The  sounds  that  have  charm'd  her  ears  to-day, 

In  slumber  she  heedeth  not. 

Thus  wilt  thou  sink  to  rest,  my  child, 

When  the  day  of  life  is  o'er  ; 
When  thy  childish  mirth,  and  sorrows  wild, 

Shall  distract  the  heart  no  more. 


MY   THREE   HOMES.  323 

Thou  wilt  lay  'side  the  gilded  toys 

That  suited  thy  heart  awhile, 
Forgotten  will  be  the  pomp  and  noise,     . 

Which  could  once  thine  hours  beguile. 

With  heavy  eyes  thou'lt  sink  to  rest, 

My  own,  my  beautiful  one, 
With  white  hands  folded  over  thy  breast, 

When  the  soul  from  earth  has  flown ! 
But  0 !  whenever  that  hour  draws  nigh, 

And  death  steals  over  thy  brow, 
May  thy  lips  express  as  soft  a  sigh, 

And  a  smile  as  sweet  as  now  ! 


MY  THREE  HOMES. 

I  have  a  home,  a  happy  home, 

Than  all  the  world  beside  more  dear ; 
And  though  my  thoughts  may  sometimes  roam, 

My  happy  heart  is  always  here. 
A  tender  friend  beside  my  hearth, 

Kneels  down  at  morn  and  eve  to  pray ; 
And  two  sweet  voices  full  of  mirth 

Are  echoing  round  it  all  the  day. 
This  friend,  whose  smile  is  like  the  sun 

To  cheer  with  its  enliv'ning  power ; 
This  trusting,  this  confiding  one, 

To  whom  my  heart  turns  ev'ry  hour ; 


324  FOREST    MELODIES. 

And  these  twin  buds  of  beauty  bright, 
Beside  my  daily  pathway  shine  ; 

It  thrills  my  heart  with  pure  delight, 
Whene'er  I  fondly  call  them  mine ! 

I  have  a  home — another  home, 

Where  a  fond  father  sits  to-day ; 
Over  his  spirit  shadows  come, 

He  thinks  of  dear  ones  far  away  ! 
There  beams  a  mother's  pensive  smile, 

Ev'n  till  the  stars  of  midnight  burn  ; 
She  muses  of  me  all  the  while, 

And  breathes  a  prayer  for  my  return. 
And  there  a  brother,  sister,  dwell, 

With  whom  my  earliest  moments  flew — 
0,  how  my  heart's  affections  swell, 

At  thought  of  those  so  kind  and  true  ! 
How  oft  my  thoughts  take  eagle's  wings, 

And  seek  once  more  that  sacred  spot ! 
Then  some  sweet  voice  the  whisper  brings, 

That  there  my  name  is  unforgot. 

I  have  another,  brighter  home, 

Where  sorrows  never  dare  intrude : 

Far,  far  beyond  the  azure  dome, 
It  holds  the  beautiful  and  good. 

A  fair  young  sister  waits  me  there, 
In  robes  of  holiness  and  light ; 


REJOICE    IN    THE    LORD    ALWAYS.  325 

And  there  three  brothers,  fondly  dear, 

In  songs  of  harmony  unite. 
And  other  friends  in  that  fair  land, 

With  whom  my  happiest  hours  were  pass'd, 
Are  mingling  with  the  angel  band, 

Ready  to  welcome  me  at  last. 
And  best  of  all,  my  Saviour's  smile 

Sheds  sacred  brightness  where  they  roam : 
0  Father,  guide  my  steps  awhile, 

Then  take  me  to  that  heavenly  home  ! 

1849. 

REJOICE  IN  THE  LORD  ALWAYS. 

Philippians,  iv,  4. 

Rejoice  in  the  Lord  at  the  clear  hour  of  morning, 

The  morning  of  life,  when  the  heart  is  at  rest ; 

When  the  pearl-drops  of  beauty  each  spray  are 

adorning, 

And  flowers   in   their  brightest  apparel  are 
dress'd. 

Rejoice  in  the  Lord  at  the  noontide  of  gladness, 
When  life  with  meridian  brightness  doth  glow ; 

WTien  thy  sky  is  unshadow'd  by  sorrow  or  sadness, 
And  earth  has  no  joy  which  thy  heart  does 
not  know. 

Rejoice  in  the  Lord  at  the  still  hour  of  even, 
When     over     the    landscape    the    twilight 
comes  on : 


326  FOREST   MELODIES. 

When  the  spirit  looks  up  for  the  starlight  of 

heaven, 

And  the  sun  of  existence  shines  out,  and  is 
gone. 


1-19. 


THE  DYING  MOTHER. 
I  had  not  thought  to  die  so  soon, 
My  sun  has  not  yet  reach'd  the  noon 

Of  life's  short,  transient  day  ; 
Friends,  ardent  friends,  are  kind  and  true, 
And  hopes,  as  fresh  as  morning  dew, 

Were  glist'ning  in  my  way. 

Death  has  been  farthest  from  my  heart, 
I  deem'd  not  I  must  soon  depart 

Into  his  mystic  clime  ; 
I  had  not  thought  the  fun'ral  knell 
So  soon  upon  the  breeze  would  swell, 

To  speak  my  flight  from  time. 

But  I  must  go, — yet  bring  me  now 
The  babe,  upon  whose  fair  young  brow 

I  Ve  gazed  so  oft  in  pride  ; 
Ah  !  who  shall  list,  when  I  am  gone, 
In  pity  to  its  wailing  moan  ? 

And  who  shall  be  its  guide  ? 

Who  watch  the  path  its  feet  may  tread, 
With  blessing  for  its  youthful  head  ? 
And  who  its  griffs  will  slian-  ° 


SPRING    HATH    A    TEACHING    VOICE.         327 

Who  love  it  with  a  mother's  love  ? 
None,  but  that  mighty  Friend  above, 
Who  hears  a  mother's  prayer. 

He  only  knows  how  swift,  and  deep, 
The  billows  that  my  soul  o'ersweep 

Of  strong  undying  love — 
0  Father !  listen  to  my  cry, 
And  be  thy  Spirit  ever  nigh, 

To  guide  her  steps  above ! 

SPRING  HATH  A  TEACHING  YOICE. 
I  heard  it  in  my  walk  to-day, 
Through  the  verdant  fields  of  May, 
Where  the  breezes,  late  so  cold, 
Softly  round  my  forehead  stole  ; 
There  a  mystic  voice  so  clear, 
Gently  broke  upon  my  ear  : — 

"  Thus,  when  all  with  gloom  is  rife, 
Beauty  wakens  into  life  ! 
Though  across  thy  morning  sky, 
Clouds  may  flit  incessantly, 
Never  yield  thy  heart  to  fear, 
Brighter  days  will  yet  appear." 

I  heard  it  through  the  garden  trees, 
Where  the  small,  but  busy  bees, 
Ply  their  restless  wing  from  morn 
Till  the  dewy  eve's  return — 


328  YUULST    MELODIES. 

There  I  heard  its  whispers  sweet, 
Which  the  zephyrs  oft  repeat : — 
"  Let  the  spring-time  of  thy  years 
Be  as  well  employ'd  as  theirs ; 
Lay  the  choicest  sweets  in  store, 
Youth's  bright  hours  will  soon  be  o'er : 
Cull  from  all  things  pure  and  bright 
Stores,  that  may  thine  age  delight." 

I  heard  it  in  the  leafy  wood, 
Amid  the  dreamy  solitude, 
Where  the  ancient  shadows  slept, 
And  the  moss  of  ages  crept — 
As  the  new  green  leaves  were  stirr'd, 
There  its  thrilling  tones  I  heard : — 
"  Time,  in  hurried  march  may  sweep, 
And  oblivion's  shadows  creep 
O'er  the  past — yet  from  the  tomb, 
Breaking  through  its  deep'ning  gloom, 
Shall  a  glorious  morn  come  on, — 
The  day  of  endless  life  shall  dawn  !" 

MM. 

WEEP  NOT. 

When  Mary,  o'er  her  brother's  tomb, 
Was  bending  low  in  speechless  gloom, 
The  Saviour  saw  the  mourner's  grief, 
And  camp  to  yield  her  sweet  relief : 


THE    DEPARTED    YEAR.  329 

His  ever  gracious,  pitying  eye 
Was  fill'd  with  purest  sympathy. 

"  Weep  not !"  her  loving  Master  said  ; 
"  Thy  friend  shall  leave  his  dusty  bed. 
Thy  brother,  now  corrupting  here, 
Shall  to  thy  weeping  eyes  appear  !" 
He  spake — what  music  in  his  voice  ! 
It  made  her  broken  heart  rejoice  ! 

0  !  when  like  hers,  the  bitter  tear 
Was  flowing  for  my  brother  dear ; 
When  naught  on  earth  could  yield  relief, 
Or  blunt  the  piercing  darts  of  grief, 

1  heard  the  same  sweet,  heavenly  sound, 
And  comfort  to  my  spirit  found. 

THE  DEPARTED  YEAR. 
To  some,  it  has  flitted  sweetly  by 

Like  a  bright,  translucent  stream, 
Bearing  the  image  of  the  sky 

In  an  ever- wavy  gleam : 
To  some,  it  has  brought  the  bane  of  woe, 

The  dregs  of  sorrow's  cup  ; 
The  recording  angel  lingers  now 

To  seal  its  records  up. 

Shall  we  recall  the  buried  past  ? 
Its  shadowy  hope  and  fear  ? 


330  FOREST    MELODIES. 

The  pictured  joys  too  bright  to  last, 
Which  fled  with  the  dying  year  ? 

Ah !  Time  has  borne  them  on  his  wing 
To  an  eye  that  has  not  slept, 

And  in  eternity's  archive 
The  record  shall  be  kept. 

How  well  has  our  part  been  acted  here  ? 

Our  part  in  the  drama  of  life  ? 
How  in  the  calm  of  the  vanish'd  year  ? 

How  'mid  its  heartless  strife  ? 
And  how  have  we  gain'd  the  smile,  or  frown 

Of  Him  who  rules  on  high  ? 
How  !    The  answer  is  written  down 

On  a  scroll  that  cannot  lie ! 


We  will  not  look  upon  the  past 

Too  long  in  vain  regret ; 
There  are  duties  in  the  narrow  path 

That  wait  our  footsteps  yet. 
But  ah  !  who  can  disclose  the  gloom 

In  the  new  year  folded  up  ? 
Or  say  it  does  not  hide  a  tomb, 

Strew 'd  o'er  with  the  flowers  of  hope  ? 

Yet,  yet  with  confidence  we  turn 

To  its  untrodden  way, 
While  the  stars  of  hope  above  us  burn, 

Lit  up  with  a  quenchless  ray. 


1846. 


IN    A    LONE    COTTAGE.  331 

0  !  the  bright  dreams  that  fancy  hath 
O'er  the  new  year  cast  their  spell ! 

We  turn,  we  turn  to  its  untried  path — 
Departed  year,  farewell! 

IN  A  LONE  COTTAGE. 
In  a  lone  cottage  far  away, 

With  shadows  on  my  brow, 
I  watch  the  driving  storm  to-day 

Where  tall,  dark  cedars  bow. 

Why  should  I  from  each  idol  part  ? 

Each  friend  of  infancy  ? 
Why  am  I  here  ?  My  trembling  heart, 

Durst  thou  not  answer  why  ? 

It  was  my  Saviour's  hallow'd  love, 
Which  lured  my  footsteps  on ; 

I  saw  him  reaching  from  above 
A  radiant,  starry  crown. 

Nor  was  it  this  alone,  which  drew 

My  heart  from  its  retreat, 
And  bade  me  sigh  a  long  adieu 

To  scenes  of  home  so  sweet. 

There  was  a  tie  more  earthly  far, 
Which  drew  my  soul  away  ; 

Love,  like  a  soft,  bewildering  star, 
Has  led  me  thus  to  stray. 


332  FOREST    MELODIES. 

But  0  !  a  sweeter,  holier  love, 
With  this  affection  blended, 

Shall  draw  me  to  a  home  above, 
When  this  short  life  is  ended. 

Jan.  1848. 

TO  MY  TWIN  DAUGHTERS. 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  FIRST  ANNIVERSARY  OF  THEIR  BERTH. 

Your  mother's  heart  beats  high  with  bliss, 

My  little  ones,  to-day ! 
For,  with  unwonted  happiness, 

She  views  your  childish  play ; 
Thinking  how  time,  whose  wing  so  oft 

Spreads  mildew  through  the  air, 
Has  only  cast  a  radiance  soft 

Upon  each  cheek  so  fair ! 

Mem'ry  beholds  those  helpless  forms 

Upon  my  bosom  laid, 
When  the  first  tears  of  love  fell  warm 

And  silent  on  each  head  : 
Mem'ry  recalls  the  hopes  and  fears 

Which  day  by  day  were  felt, 
Lest  death  should  blight,  or  coming  years 

Stain  the  pure  heart  with  guilt. 

Rather  than  see  your  lives  flow  on 

Till  sin  their  beauty  mar, 
I  would  resign  you,  one  by  one, 

All  lovely  as  ve  are : — 


THE   ROSE    BUSH.  333 

Would  yield  you  up  to  Him  who  gave, 
Fresh  as  the  dew-drops  bright ; 

Lay  my  fond  treasure  in  the  grave, 
And  veil  my  soul  in  night. 

But  hope  has  sketch'd  a  path  for  you 

Beneath  a  smiling  sky, 
Where  flowers  shall  bloom  of  loveliest  hue — 

The  flowers  of  purity. 
Yes,  hope  has  promises  of  bliss, 

Pictures  divinely  fair, 
Which,  like  all  earthly  happiness, 

May  soon  dissolve  in  air  ! 

Fear  whispers  that  a  few  short  years 

May  find  you  side  by  side, 
Lone  orphans,  pouring  forth  your  tears 

Upon  life's  desert  wide — 
But  0 !  whate'er  your  lot  may  be, 

May  some  bright  spirit  come 
To  guide  your  steps  in  purity 

To  a  celestial  home  ! 

Dec.  8th,  1848. 

THE  ROSE-BUSH. 
It  stands,  adorn'd  with  clust'ring  leaves, 

Just  by  the  door-step  here, 
Where  June  has  hung  her  flowering  wreaths 

For  many  a  circling  year. 


334  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Now  as  its  opening  buds  appear, 

How  memory  fondly  stirs ; 
How  quickly,  warmly  starts  the  tear — 

My  sister  call'd  it  hers  ! 

Where  is  that  hand  which  loved  to  twine 

Its  first  faint  buds  of  red  ? 
The  blossoms  still  in  beauty  shine — 

That  hand  is  with  the  dead. 

0 !  by  these  buds,  just  opening  now, 
I  know  that  month  has  come, 

When  she,  with  aching,  fev'rish  brow, 
Was  passing  to  the  tomb. 

She  ask'd  to  have  her  pillow  moved, 

One  lovely  morn  like  this, 
To  see  the  rose  she  nursed  and  loved 

In  days  of  health  and  bliss. 

But  when  it  reach'd  its  fullest  bloom, 

She  was  for  burial  dress'd ; 
Its  leaves  were  pluck'd  in  fresh  perfume, 

And  strew'd  upon  her  breast. 

And  there  they  wither'd  with  the  one 
Whom  we  had  loved  so  well ; — 

O,  thus  'twas  ever  'neath  the  sun 
With  all  things  beautiful ! 

Jane,  1848. 


A    LETTER.  335 


A  LETTER. 
A  letter— 0,  a  letter  ! 

All  beautiful  and  bright, 
With  my  own  name  traced  upon  it, 

Now  greets  my  anxious  sight. 
It  is  a  priceless  treasure — 

Who  does  not  know  its  worth  ? 
To  me  it  seemeth  richer 

Than  all  the  gems  of  earth. 

A  letter— 0,  a  letter ! 

I  press  it  to  my  heart — 
For  aught  the  world  could  give  me 

I  would  not  with  it  part ! 
Within  its  sacred  foldings 

A  precious  treasure  lies, 
Which  makes  the  fount  of  feeling 

E'en  now  o'erflow  my  eyes. 

A  letter— 0,  a  letter  ! 

'Tis  from  an  absent  friend — 
The  sacred  words  within  it 

By  his  own  hand  were  penn'd. 
I  think,  while  gazing  on  it, 

That  I  am  rich  indeed — 
But  let  me  drop  my  pencil, 

And  break  the  seal,  and  read. 

June,  1848. 


336  FOREST    MELODIES. 

WINTER. 

They  sing  of  spring  and  summer  months, 

Of  autumn  too  they  sing ; 
But  who  has  yet  admired  thy  charms, 

Thou  stormy,  snow-crown'd  king  ? 

In  ev'ry  rale,  on  ev'ry  height, 

Thou  hast  thy  beauties  too, 
Not  less  attractive  than  the  flowers 

When  bright  with  gems  of  dew. 

There 's  beauty  in  the  silver  threads 

Thou  hangest  on  the  trees  ; 
And  music  in  their  branches,  made 

By  ev'ry  rustling  breeze. 

There 's  beauty  in  thy  frost-work  rare, 

Overspreading  ev'ry  pane ; 
There's  beauty  in  those  icy  links 

Which  now  the  rills  enchain. 

The  stars  of  winter  brightly  burn, 

Like  jewels  in  the  sky ; 
And  the  long  streamers  of  the  north 

Have  now  their  deepest  dye. 

And  there  is  beauty  in  the  glow 

Of  winter's  blazing  hearth, 
When  round  it,  through  long  evenings,  sit 

The  best  beloved  of  earth. 


PSALM   XCI,    11.  387 

O  winter !  thou  hast  hours  of  bliss, 

And  hours  for  sober  thought ; 
Lessons  of  wisdom,  love,  and  truth, 

Which  summer  knoweth  not. 

Feb.  1849. 

PSALM  XCI, '2. 

"  For  he  shall  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee,  to  keep 
thee  in  all  thy  ways." 

Young  disciple,  dost  thou  fear 
Dangers  lurking  in  thy  path  ? 

Are  the  skies  that  spread  above  thee, 
Sullen  with  impending  wrath  ? 

Is  thy  way  like  desert  sands, 

Scorch'd  beneath  thy  feet  and  dry  ? 

Are  the  flowers  of  hope,  so  blooming, 
Wither'd  'neath  a  cheerless  sky  ? 

Hear  this  promise,  rich  and  sweet, 
Sounding  from  the  sacred  word — 

How  thy  dark,  desponding  spirit 
By  its  music  should  be  stirr'd : 

"  God  shall  send  his  angels  forth, 
All  commission'd,  from  the  sky ; 

In  their  might  they  shall  defend  thee, 
In  their  arms  shall  bear  thee  high  !" 

O !  poor  soul, — look  up  and  see, 

Through  the  mist  that  veils  thy  sight, 
22 


338  FOREST    MELODIES. 

Throngs  of  spirits,  clothed  ill  beauty, 
Coming  from  the  world  of  light ! 

Jesus,  thou  hast  sent  them  hither 
To  protect  thy  feeble  one  ; 

They  shall  bear  me  up  to  heaven 
When  my  day  of  life  is  done. 

Nov.  1848. 

WE  RAMBLED  THROUGH  THE  WOOD. 
We  rambled  through  the  gorgeous  wood, 

And  spent  some  pleasant  hours, 
Where  Flora's  hand,  in  joyous  mood, 

Had  strewn  our  way  with  flowers. 

A  laughing  boy  was  at  our  side, 

A  little,  playful  child  ; 
The  gushing  gladness  of  his  heart 

Was  rapturously  wild. 

When  yellow  leaves  were  falling  round, 
He  paused  with  prattling  song, 

Then  started  with  a  lightsome  bound 
And  fairly  danced  along. 

"  How  beautiful !"  at  length  he  said  ; 

"  0,  that  I  were  a  man  ! 
I  'd  search  the  wild  wood's  deepest  shade, 

Its  wildest  beauties  scan. 

"  It  must  be  joy  all  day  to  rove 
Mid  beauties  bright  as  these — 


ELIZABETH.  339 

Explore  the  recess  of  the  grove, 
And  climb  the  towering  trees. 

"To  start  the  wild  bird  from  its  nest, 

Pursue  the  timid  deer, 
And  then  on  leaves  of  gold  to  rest, 

When  darkness  should  appear." 

His  dark  eye  kindled  as  he  spoke, 
His  cheek  was  flush'd  and  bright; 

He  bounded  forward  o'er  the  leaves 
With  footstep  wild  and  light. 

O,  childhood  !  how  thine  innocence, 

Thy  buoyant  spirits  free, 
Tinge  all  things  with  the  mellow  ray 

Of  sweet  simplicity  ! 

Our  autumn  ramble  caught  a  charm 

From  this  light-hearted  child, 
And  the  soft  light  of  that  sweet  eve 

Was  brighten'd  where  he  smiled. 

:3. 

ELIZABETH. 
She  faded  as  the  violets  fade, 
Which  blossom  in  the  leafy  shade, 

And  early  droop  away ; 
Even  while  their  mossy  bed  is  bright, 
And  naught  beside  is  touch'd  with  blight, 

Or  whispers  of  decay. 


340  FOREST   MELODIES. 

Ah,  those  she  dearly  loved  on  earth, 
At  eve  shall  gather  round  the  hearth 

Of  her  deserted  home ; 
But  she,  the  eldest  born,  and  brightest, 
Whose  step  among  them  moved  the  lightest, 

Must  slumber  in  the  tomb. 

June,  1848. 


MEMORY. 

Mem'iy  takes  me  by  the  hand, 

Leads  me  back  through  other  years 

In  the  shadowy  past  I  stand, 

Gazing  on  through  hopes  and  fears. 

I  review  the  lights  and  shades, 
Joys  and  sorrows  I  have  known  ; 

Call  to  life  again  the  dead, 
List  in  rapture  to  each  tone. 

Yes,  I  mingle  with  the  blest, 

Who  have  sought  that  silent  shore, 

Where  the  weary  are  at  rest, 
And  the  wicked  vex  no  more. 

Early  friends  around  me  throng, 
Happy  voices  greet  my  ear — 

Mem'ry,  unto  thee  belong 
Both  to  sadden  and  to  cheer ! 

1849. 


AS   I   WATCH   THE    LIGHT.  341 

AS  I  WATCH  THE  LIGHT. 

As  I  watch  the  mellow  light 

Of  the  slow-declining  sun, 
Mem'ries  of  the  past,  to-night, 

Steal  upon  me  one  by  one. 

Here  I  Ve  watch'd  the  clouds  of  gold, 
Floating  through  the  azure  heaven ; 

Seen  their  gaudy  wings  unfold, 
In  the  dusky  light  of  even. 

Here  I  've  gazed  upon  the  stars, 
Glitt'ring  in  the  dome  of  night ; 

And  the  moon,  which  always  wears 
Such  a  robe  of  silvery  white. 

Here  my  eye  has  caught  the  charm 
Of  the  music-breathing  spring, 

When  my  heart  and  hopes  were  warm, 
And  I  loved  the  tuneful  string. 

Here  with  restless  heart  I  sought 
And  obtained  the  pearl  divine  ; 

Here  my  soul  its  glory  caught, 
From  religion's  hallow'd  shrine. 

Here  have  trials  closed  me  round, 
Darker  than  the  shades  of  even ; 

Here  my  weary  heart  has  found 
Solace  sweet,  and  aid  from  heaven. 


342  FOREST   MELODIES. 

Here  once  more  I  watch  the  light 

Of  the  slow-declining  sun — 
0,  what  memories  to-night, 

Steal  upon  me  one  by  one  ! 

Depeyster,  Feb.,  1848. 

THE  YOUNG  ITINERANT. 

Close  by  the  banks  of  a  beautiful  river, 
Where  poplar  leaves  in  the  breezes  quiver, 
Stood  a  pale-brow'd  stranger — his  calm  blue  eye 
Just  raised  to  the  verge  of  the  eastern  sky. 
The  leaves  with  a  gentle  pulsation  beat, 
The  waves  hush'd  their  murmur  beneath  his  feet, 
And  the  ivy  that  round  the  rugged  rocks  hung, 
Trembled  over  the  waters  as  thus  he  sung : — 

"  The  home  of  my  childhood — it  lies  afar, 
Toward  the  rising  sheen  of  that  eastern  star : 
The  friends  of  my  youth — they  are  wending  there, 
And  this  moonlight  lies  on  their  pathway  fair. 
Though  bright  is  the  landscape  that  meets  my  eye, 
I  gaze  with  a  fondly-rising  sigh ; 
For  I  think  of  hearts  that  moved  with  my  own, 
At  the  sight  of  waves  where  the  moonbeams  shone. 

"  I  think  of  those  bosoms,  that  thrill'd  like  mine, 
With  :i  transport  deep,  with  a  power  divine, 
As  nature's  harp-strings  were  wildly  rung, 
And  their  sweetest  strains  on  the  night-air  flung. 


THE    YOUNG   ITINERANT.  343 

O,  that  beautiful  home,  far,  far  away, 
Which  is  sleeping  now  in  the  moon's  pale  ray, 
Is  the  spot  where  my  fancy  first  took  wing — 
How  its  memories  glide,  as  I  strive  to  sing  ! 

"  The  friends  I  have  loved,  how  tender  and  kind ! 
How  the  bonds,  which  around  my  heart  were 

twined, 

Seem  drawing  me  back  to  that  hallow'd  shade, 
To  the  spot  where  a  joyous  child  I  play'd  ! 
I  think  of  the  tear  in  my  mother's  eye, 
Of  a  sister's  counsel,  a  brother's  sigh ; 
I  think  of  the  hour  when  my  heart  was  torn 
From  that  bright  circle,  to  wander  forlorn, — 

"  That  sorrowful  hour  when  a  father's  voice, 
Which  had  made  my  spirit  so  oft  rejoice, 
Gave  his  last  calm  counsel  of  tender  love, 
And  commended  his  son  to  the  Friend  above ; 
When  my  sister  strove  to  suppress  a  sigh, 
And  tears  were  gathering  quick  in  her  eye ; 
And  my  brother's  tone — I  can  hear  it  now, 
As  he  turn'd  away  with  a  mournful  brow. 

"  Yet  I  would  not  return  to  that  peaceful  vale, 
Though  sweetness  may  breathe  on  each  passing 

gale; 

I  would  not  again  be  a  lingerer  there, 
Though  the  skies  were  more  bright,    and  the 

scenes  more  fair ; 


344  FOREST  MELODIES. 

I  would  not  return,  though  a  mother's  tears 
Have  flow'd  in  my  absence  for  three  long  years ; 
For  the  glory  and  gold  of  this  earthly  sphere, 
I  would  not  abandon  my  sufferings  here. 

"  I  remember  that  voice — that  startling  call 
Of  my  Master,  who  bade  me  relinquish  all ; 
But  in  every  zephyr  that  murmurs  by, 
In  the  leaves'  low  rustle,  the  tempest's  cry, 
In  the  sound  of  waves  as  they  rush  along 
With  the  plaintive  swell  of  a  thrilling  song, 
These  words  with  the  tones  of  that  mandate  blend, 
'  I  'm  with  you  now,  and  will  be  to  the  end.' " 

Then  from  the  banks  of  that  beautiful  river, 
Where  poplar  leaves  hi  the  breezes  quiver, 
While  the  moon  look'd  down  with  a  tranquil  ray, 
That  pale-brow'd  stranger  pursued  his  way  : 
The  waves  murmur'd  louder  beneath  his  feet, 
The  leaves  with  a  quicker  pulsation  beat, 
And  he  turn'd  away  from  that  lovely  scene, 
With  a  calmer  heart,  and  a  brow  serene. 


YOUTHFUL  PIETY. 

Youth  is  the  time  for  hope — 
She  lights  her  stars  above  our  way, 
And  where  our  gladsome  footsteps  stray, 

How  sweet  her  blossoms  ope  ! 


UNSEEN    SPIRITS.  345 

Youth  is  the  time  for  joy — 
Its  brightness  lures  our  flying  feet, 
Its  cup  of  bliss  is  purely  sweet, 

Scarce  mingled  with  alloy. 

0,  in  these  sunny  hours, 
T  were  well  to  fix  the  heart  above, 
And  pour  forth  all  its  deathless  love, 

Where  are  no  dying  flowers. 

What  sight  than  this  more  fair  ? 
A  youthful  heart  that  turns  away 
From  earthly  hopes,  ere  they  decay 

And  leave  the  soul  to  care. 

8. 

UNSEEN  SPIRITS. 
They  are  round  us — they  are  round  us, 

When  a  cloud  is  o'er  our  way ; 
When  a  chain  to  earth  has  bound  us, 

And  we  struggle  to  be  free. 

They  are  with  us,  when  in  anguish 

Wearily  the  spirit  droops — 
When  oppressed  with  grief  we  languish, 

Sick  of  all  earth's  cheating  hopes  ; 

With  us  in  the  hour  of  gladness, 

When  the  world  is  strangely  bright ; 

With  us  in  the  time  of  sadness, 
When  earth  ceases  to  delight ; 


346  FOREST   MELODIES. 

With  us,  when  we  pass  the  portals 

Of  the  spirit-land  above — 
Even  then,  these  bright  immortals 

Shall  attend  with  words  of  love. 

Blessed  spirits !  hover  near  us — 

Ever  near  us  on  life's  way ; 
On  your  mystic  pinions  bear  us, 

To  the  world  of  endless  day. 

Faithful  guardians !  teach,  O  teach  us 
To  improve  the  blessings  given ; 

Teach  us  how  to  bear  life's  trials, 

How  to  reach  your  own  bright  heaven. 


1845. 


WHO  ARE  THE  HAPPY? 
Who  are  the  happy  ?     Those  who  dwell 

In  lordly  domes, 
Where  pride  and  affluence  meet  so  well, 

And  want  ne'er  comes  ? 
Nay,  many  hearts  with  sorrow  swell 

In  royal  homes. 

Who  are  the  happy  ?     Those  who  lead 

The  star  of  fame  ? 
Those  who  have  found  the  envied  meed 

Of  a  great  name  ? 
Honour  is  but  a  broken  reed, 

Sometimes  a  shame ! 


AN    AGKD    MISSIONARY.  347 

Who  are  the  happy  ?     Those  who  tread 

Historic  ground, 
And  in  their  glowing  ardour  wed 

Science  profound  ? 
Ah,  frequently  the  learned  head 

With  thorns  is  crown'd  ! 

Who  are  the  happy  ?     Those  who  kneel 

At  Friendship's  shrine  ? 
Whose  ardent,  faithful  spirits  feel 

Her  power  divine  ? 
E'en  Friendship  hath  not  power  to  heal 

A  restless  mind. 

Who  are  the  happy  ?     They  are  those 

Who  look  away 
To  the  blest  Source  of  sure  repose 

And  meekly  stay 
Their  faith  upon  the  blood,  which  flows 

On  Calvary ! 


AN  AGED  MISSIONARY. 

His  locks  were  white  as  snow ;  upon  his  brow 
There  was  the  calmness  of  a  summer  eve, 
While  in  his  clear  eye  shone  the  mildest  light 
Of  the  first  starlit ;  and  his  every  tone 
Was  melting  as  the  zephyr's  genial  breath. 


348  FOREST  MELODIES. 

I  should  have  reverenced  at  once  that  form 
Had  I  not  heard  his  name  ;  but  when  I  knew 
He  was  the  one  who  gave  up  home,  and  friends, 
And  country,  at  the  blessed  Saviour's  call, 
I  more  than  reverenced !    A  sacredness 
Seem'd  to  pervade  the  atmosphere  he  breathed. 
I  thought  how  oft  my  country  doth  award 
The  meed  of  glory  to  her  favoured  sons, 
And  call  them  noble  who  have  only  been 
Amid  the  carnage  of  the  battle  field, 
Struggling  for  fame. 

Of  how  much  greater  worth, 
Think  ye,  are  those  great  motives,  pure  and  high, 
Which  dwelt  within  this  aged  champion's  breast  ? 
Was  it  the  love  of  gold  ?  or,  was  it  aught 
That  dwells  within  the  narrow,  selfish  mind, 
Which  made  him  waste  the  vigour  of  his  strength 
In  an  unhealthy  climate  ?     Wherefore  ask  ? 
The  wicked  may  find  something  here  too  deep 
For  them  to  fathom. 

O  !  ye  great  and  good, 
Men  may  not  rightly  prize  your  actions  here  ; 
But  wait  in  patient  trust !     Time  speedeth  on, 
Bringing  that  moment  nearer,  when  the  scroll 
Before  assembled  worlds  shall  be  outspread, 
And  ye  receive  from  heaven's  acknowledged  King 
Your  just  deserts. 


PLEADINGS  WITH  DEATH.        349 

Till  then,  thou  white-hair'd  man, 
Thou  aged  champion  of  the  cross,  pass  on, 
And  pass  in  peace.     May  guardian  angels  fold 
Their  wings  of  love  about  thee,  buoy  thee  up, 
And  bear  thee  safe  to  heaven  !     Adieu — adieu  ! 
I  think  to  meet  thee,  where  thy  placid  brow, 
In  its  immortal  youth,  shall  meekly  wear 
Stars  of  true  splendour,  numerous  and  fadeless. 

July,  1848. 

PLEADINGS  WITH  DEATH. 

A  voice  was  heard, 
A  voice  at  morning's  rosy  hour, 
Ere  the  first  zephyr  moved  the  flower : 
From  the  sad  chamber  of  the  dying, 
I  heard  it  wailing,  sobbing,  crying ; 
For  there  a  sweet  girl,  pale  and  wan, 
Was  fading  even  at  childhood's  dawn, 

And  thus  she  spoke : — 

"  Spare  me,  0  Death  ! 
I  cannot  go  while  all  is  bright, 
And  glowing  with  such  gladsome  light ; 
I  cannot  leave  my  cheerful  home, 
And  all  the  garden's  pleasant  bloom — 
There  shine  the  buds  with  dew-drops  wet, 
I  cannot,  cannot  leave  them  yet — 

Awhile  delay !" 


350  FOREST   MELODIES. 

Another  voice 

Proceeded  from  the  room  of  death, 
Where  now  a  strong  youth  gasp'd  for  breath ; 
Ah !  with  a  pleading  eye  he  turn'd 
From  the  fond  hearts  that  o'er  him  yearn'd, 
And  though  his  voice  was  faint  and  weak, 
With  trembling  lips  I  heard  him  speak, 

Or  rather  groan  : — 

"  Forbear,  0  Death  ! 
Thou  monster  of  the  grave,  delay  ! 
Call  not  my  spirit  yet  away : 
For  there  are  hopes  still  unattain'd, 
Heights  of  ambition  not  yet  gain'd  ; 
And  there  is  one,  with  tearful  eye, 
Who  cannot  yet  behold  me  die — 

Spare  me  awhile !" 

And  next  I  heard 
A  tender,  supplicating  tone 
From  a  sad  chamber  still  and  lone, 
Where  knelt  a  manly  form  in  prayer, 
Amidst  his  children  young  and  fair : 
As  the  pale  suff'rer  raised  her  head, 
With  looks  of  agony  she  said, 

With  many  sobs  : — 

"  Spare  me,  0  Death- ! 
I  cannot  leave  my  own  sweet  home, 


PLEADINGS    WITH   DEATH.  351 

For  the  dark  manaions  of  the  tomb  ; 
I  cannot  leave  my  husband's  side, 
Leave  my  young  babes  without  a  guide ; 
I  would  not  pass  away  so  soon, 
Ere  I  have  reach'd  life's  sunny  noon — 
Call  me  not  now  !" 


Again,  at  eve 

An  aged  man,  with  locks  of  gray 
Which  glisten'd  in  the  sunset  ray, 
Reclining,  view'd  with  thoughtful  eye 
The  loveliness  which  clothed  the  sky, 
The  verdure  hanging  on  the  trees, 
And  caught  the  odour-laden  breeze, 

As  thus  he  spoke  : — 

"  Be  kind,  0  Death  ! 
Spare  me  awhile,  though  youth  has  fled ; 
Though  hopes  are  gone,  and  friends  are  dead! 
My  heart,  though  lonely  as  the  tomb, 
Still  clings  to  this  sweet  world  of  bloom — 
0,  cruel  Death !  thy  work  delay, 
Nor  call  the  lone  one  yet  away — 

Stay,  stay  thy  hand !" 

1849. 


>r 
352  FOREST   MELODIES. 

MRS.  S.  JUDSON, 

SECOND     WIFE    OF     THE     BURMAN     MISSIONARY,     WHO     DIED 
WHILE    ON    HER    PASSAGE    HOMEWARD,   AND  WAS    BURIED 

AT   ST.   HELENA. 

On  that  lonely  isle  they  laid  her  to  rest, 
When  life's  latest  struggle  was  o'er  ; 

When  her  spirit  had  reach'd  its  home  with  the 

blest, 
Instead  of  her  own  native  shore. 

They  laid  her  to  rest  in  that  barren  ground, 

On  those  sullen  rocks  of  gloom, 
Where  a  fallen  monarch  from  Europe  found 

A  lonely  exile's  tomb. 

Think  you  her  deeds  will  be  sounded  as  far 
As  that  conqueror's  blood-stain'd  name — 

As  the  thrilling  tales  of  his  contests  are, 
By  the  trumpet  of  earthly  fame  ? 

And  think  you  a  fleet  from  her  native  land, 
Commission'd  to  bring  back  her  dust, 

Will   honour   her   grave   with   such   pompous 

parade, 
While  receiving  the  sacred  trust  ? 

Ah,  no !  she  will  sleep  unheeded,  forgot, 
Where  the  wind  of  the  ocean  blows, 

'Mid  the  dismal  rocks  of  that  gloomy  spot, 
Where  Napoleon  could  not  repose. 


ON    RECEIVING    A    CARD.  353 

We  heard  her  voice  from  the  distant  main, 
As  soon  as  her  warfare  was  done — 

"  Gird  on  thine  armour,  my  husband,  again. 
And  fight  till  the  battle  is  won  /" 

Did  Bonaparte  conquer  ?     She  conquer'd  more, 
Till  she  fell  'neath  the  fearful  blast— 

A  victor  she  was  over  sin,  death  and  hell ; 
Yea,  more  than  a  conqueror  at  last ! 

Sleep  on,  sainted  woman !    sweet  be  thy  repose, 
'Mid  the  dark,  rocky  islet's  gloom — 

Long,  long  as  the  wind  on  the  ocean  blows, 
Sad  Burmah  shall  weep  o'er  thy  tomb. 

1847. 

ON  RECEIVING  A  CARD, 

LEFT  BY  A  DYING  FRIEND  FOB  THE  ATJTHOB. 

^  came,  but  she  had  pass'd  away — 
Her  place  among  the  graves  was  seen ; 

The  turf  that  o'er  her  pillow  lay, 
Was  not  yet  green. 

Mem'ry  went  backward  to  the  past, 
Eecalling  days  of  hope  and  glee, — 

I  wonder 'd,  if,  even  to  the  last, 
She  thought  of  me. 

This  tells  the  tale  :— With  trembling  hand 
I  hold  it  to  my  tearful  eye, 
23 


354  FORKST   MELODIES. 

And  read  of  that  immortal  land, 
Where  none  may  die ; 

And  of  a  glorious  meeting  there, 

Where  sweetest  songs  of  rapture  flow, 

And  kindly  hearts  cemented  are, 
If  pure  below. 

The  name  was  traced  by  that  fair  hand 
Now  folded  in  a  lasting  sleep — 

Memento  of  my  early  friend, 
O'er  thee  I  weep : 

Weep  at  the  thought  of  parting  hours, 
Of  dying  friends  and  farewell  sighs  ; 

Weep  at  the  thought  of  fading  flowers, 
And  blighting  skies. 

1848. 

LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  ITINERANCY. 

(TO  ME.   A.   F.  B.) 

You  often  told  me  there  were  shades  of  night 
Along  the  pathway  you  were  treading  lone  ; 

But  0  !  it  has  a  sacred,  heavenly  light, 
More  brilliant  than  I  hitherto  had  known, 
And  yet  my  course  was  bright  before  it  shone ; 

This  light  reveals  the  wonders  of  the  skies, 
And,  streaming  down  from  the  eternal  throne, 

Awakes  such  rapture  in  my  ravish 'd  eyes, 

That  glory  seems  to  gild  the  path  of  sacrifice. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS   OF  ITINERANCY.       355 

Where  are  the  shadows  ?  There  might  seem  to  be 

Darkness  to  them  whose  hopes  are  clinging 

here — 
But  0  !  the  path  before  us  seems  to  me 

Light  with  the  glories  of  a  holier  sphere  ! 

All,  all  in  prospect  to  my  mind  is  clear, — 
The  smiles  of  Jesus  fall  upon  my  soul ; 

The  breathings  of  his  Spirit  sweet  I  hear, 
Directing  onward  to  the  heavenly  goal ; 
And   even  now   I   see    the    gates    of  heaven 
unfold ! 

Where  are  the  shadows  ?     Tell  me,  dearest  one  ! 

I  know  thy  heart  has  trembled  oft  for  me, — 
It  would  have  throbb'd  with   pleasure,  hadst 
thou  known 

How  bright  I  thought  this  narrow  way  to  be, 

And  how  I  wish'd  to  tread  it  too  with  thee ! 
It  shines  so  radiant  with  my  Saviour's  love — 

So  straight  a  course  to  immortality, 
While  angel  banners  seem  to  float  above, — 
O  !  I  esteem  it  sweet  in  such  a  path  to  rove ! 

But  thou  hast  told  me  there  is  many  a  thorn, 
To  pierce  the  spirit  in  the  path  we  tread ; 

And  be  it  so  : — the  glorious  light  of  morn 
Has  o'er  our  souls  its  dewy  lustre  shed, 
And  nature's  dismal  shadows — all  have  fled  ! 


356  FOREST  MELODIES. 

We  shall  be  happy,  although  clouds  of  gloom 
Should  gather   densely,  and   their   shadows 

spread 

Wherever  it  may  be  our  lot  to  roam, 
Yet  brighter  far  for  this  would  be  our  heavenly 

home. 


TO  MRS.  LUCIA  STRATTON. 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  DAY  OF  HER  DEPARTURE   FOR  CALIFORNIA. 

[Rev.  R.  Stratton  and  lady,  having  received  a  missionary 
appointment  to  Sacramento  City,  parted  from  their  nu 
merous  friends  at  the  Madrid  Station,  on  the  Ogdensburgh 
and  Champlain  Railroad,  Oct.  8th,  1851.  As  they  started 
for  the  field  of  their  future  labours  and  sufferings  in  the 
service  of  Christ — as  those  affecting  adieus  were  exchanged 
between  parents  and  children — who  shall  tell  how  rich  were 
the  blessings  invoked  upon  them  by  those  who,  like  the 
writer,  witnessed  the  tender  scene?  The  following  lines, 
and  many  as  yet  unuttered  prayers,  are  the  tribute  which 
affection  offers  to  the  memory  of  so  excellent  a  friend.] 

My  heart  goes  with  thee,  far  across  the  deep, 

Unto  that  distant  land — 
I  see  the  waves  of  Sacramento  sweep 

Along  the  golden  sand. 

My  heart  goes  after  thee,  in  earnest  prayer, 

Where  Jesus  calls  thee  now ; 
I  seem  to  feel  as  thou  wilt  feel,  while  there 

The  winds  of  sorrow  blow. 


,»*v 

TO    MRS.    LUCIA    STRATTON.  357 

My  heart  goes  with  thee,  for  I  know  thy  feet 

A  path  of  thorns  must  tread ; 
Sickness  and  care  thou  wilt  be  call'd  to  meet — 

Perchance  the  sainted  dead. 

My  heart  goes  with  thee,  for  my  weeping  eyes 

Covet  that  great  reward 
Which  waits  the  Christian  pilgrim  in  the  skies 

Who  suffers  for  her  Lord. 

O  !  what  a  promise,  thou,  my  sister,  hast ! 

Unto  thy  faith  is  given 
A  hundredfold  on  earth,  and  then,  at  last, 

Eternal  life  in  heaven. 

Thy  home  is  left :  thy  sisters  are  behind — 

Their  hearts  are  fill'd  with  woe  ! 
Thou'rt  parted  from  those  brothers  fondly  kind, 

To  meet  no  more  below. 

Thou  hast  left  friends:  thy  widow'd   father's 

tears 

Stream'd  down  his  furrow'd  cheek ; 
His    whole    frame   shook    with   overwhelming 

fears, — 
He  had  no  power  to  speak ! 

He  saw  thy  mother's  image  in  his  child : 

Thy  mother  left  him  first ! 
She  for  the  grave — thou  for  the  distant  wild,— 

And  now  the  strong  heart  burst ! 


358  FOREST  MELODIES. 

This  image  pass'd  from  that  fond  father's  eye, 

And  swelling  tears  were  vain ; 
His  grief — his  love — which  rose  convulsive,  high, 

Could  not  thy  footsteps  chain ! 

'Tis  well,  my  sister,  that  thy  mother's  heart 

Had  then  grown  still  and  cold  ; 
Else  her  sad  tears  had  made  it  worse  to  part, — 

Perhaps  thy  course  controll'd ! 

But  now  she  sees  not  as  we  mortals  see — 

All  mists  are  pass'd  away  ; 
Doubtless  her  soul  doth  now  rejoice  with  thee, 

Along  thy  toilsome  way ! 

My   heart  goes  with  thee,  though  the  world 
despise 

The  offering  thou  hast  made, — 
The  Lord  shall  give  thee,  for  thy  sacrifice, 

A  crown  that  cannot  fade  ! 

Adieu,  my  sister  !     Though  beneath  the  sky 

Our  intercourse  is  past, 
My  soul  shall  greet  thee  in  that  home  on  high, 

Where  saints  all  meet  at  last. 

A  richer  Sacramento,  far  above, 

Washes  its  jewell'd  shores ; 
And  all  who  reach  the  shining  plains  of  love, 

Shall  find  its  golden  stores. 


THOUGHTS    OF   THERON.  359 

THOUGHTS  OF  THERON. 

AN  EXTRACT   FROM   THE  AUTHOR'S  DIARY. 

[JAN.  1st,  1840. — A  long  time  has  gone  by  since  I  have 
noted  a  single  passing  event.  How  could  I?  Some  one 
has  said  that  a  victim  on  the  rack  cannot  keep  records. 
Thus  it  has  been  with  me.  Theron  has  gone — he  left  us 
yesterday.  He  lingered  until  the  old  year  had  almost 
closed,  and  then  commenced  his  new  year  in  that  clime 
where  days  are  never  numbered.  O,  my  dear  brother !  I 
have  just  looked  upon  that  sweet  face— just  pressed  that 
hand  in  mine,  and  knelt  beside  him.  He  spake  not — he  did 
not  return  the  pressure  of  my  hand, — but  still  he  smiles  ! 
How  cold,  how  pale  are  those  dear  lips  I  0  Theron,  hast 
thou  gone  ?  Hast  thou  gone  forever  ?  How  sweet  the  me 
mory  of  thy  example !  0  Saviour,  let  the  mantle  of  my 
brother  fall  upon  me  !] 

He  rests  at  manhood's  early  dawn, 
Care  has  not  mark'd  his  snowy  brow ; 

But  from  his  cheek  the  rose  has  gone, 
1 T  is  overspread  with  paleness  now. 

Those  snowy  eyelids,  darkly  fringed, 
Lie  softly  as  in  slumber  deep — 

Those  smiling  lips  are  faintly  tinged 
With  life,  as  if  in  gentle  sleep. 

How  calm — how  holy  seems  his  rest, 
Unbroken  by  one  ling'ring  breath  ! 

What  heavenly  smilings  seem  impressed 
On  the  calm  features  cold  in  death ! 


^,. ;:  *.  .:;._••••• 

360  FOREST  MELODIES. 

He  sleeps  in  death — that  silent  tongue 
Has  ceased  to  charm  our  circle  here ; 

His  harp,  upon  the  willows  hung, 

No  more  shall  strike  the  list'ner's  ear. 

But  far  above  this  world  of  woe, 
I  trace  his  spirit's  homeward  flight ; 

Where  joys,  that  mortals  may  not  know, 
Are  bursting  on  his  ravish'd  sight. 

There,  on  the  plains  of  Paradise, 

He  strikes  a  lyre  of  wond'rous  tone  ; 

Before  him  scenes  of  beauty  rise, 
And  near  him  is  the  eternal  throne. 

But  round  his  dust  we  gather  now, 

The  silent  tear  flows  down  each  cheek ; 

The  broken  sigh — the  voice  so  low — 
Ah  !  language  fails  our  grief  to  speak. 

Sad  mourners  !  diy  the  falling  tear — 
No  longer  weep  for  one  so  blest ! 

Too  heavenly  for  this  troubled  sphere, 
He  left  us  for  his  endless  rest 

Lay  the  prized  relics  in  the  tomb, 
And  plant  the  flowers  above  his  bed ! 

There  let  the  rose  and  violet  bloom — 
Sleep,  loved  one,  with  the  early  dead ! 


THE    WINTRY   WINDS.  361 

THE  WINTRY  WINDS. 

Hark  !  the  wintry  winds  are  wailing 

Loud  and  dismally  along  ; 
And  their  piercing  tones  of  sadness 

Find  an  echo  in  my  song. 

Wintry  winds — how  cold  and  cheerless  ! 

How  they  strike  upon  the  heart ! 
With  a  thrill  so  deep  and  startling, 

That  the  quick'ning  pulses  start. 

When  will  spring-time's  gentle  breathings 

Softly  murmur  in  their  stead, 
Telling  us  in  tones  of  sweetness 

That  the  wintry  storms  have  fled  ? 

Late  I  dream'd  that  spring  was  with  us — 

Dim  and  hazy  was  the  sky, 
And  I  heard  the  gentle  zephyrs 

All  along  my  pathway  sigh. 

Flowers  hung  down  their  glowing  petals, 

And  the  dew-drops  gently  fell, 
Like  the  tears  that  gush  so  freely 

When  we  say  that  word,  Farewell. 

Birds  were  singing,  but  their  music 
Sounded  deeply,  strangely  sad  ; 

Like  the  tune  they  sing  so  sweetly, 
When  we  gather  round  the  dead. 


362  JKOKEST  MELODIES. 

And  the  trees — how  strange  they  glimmer'd 

In  the  dim  and  dusky  light ! 
Ah  !  the  streamlet  munnur'd  sadness, 

Gushing  o'er  its  pebbles  bright. 

All  seemed  mournful — such  a  spring-time 

Let  me  never,  never  see ! 
Wintry  winds,  your  dismal  wailings 

Would  be  sweeter  far  to  me ! 

Was  I  dreaming  ?     No !  't  was  real — 
Such  a  spring  was  surely  here, 

Scattering  all  its  richest  blossoms 
O'er  a  brother's  early  bier  I 

Wintry  winds  !  your  dismal  wailings 
Have  a  language  in  their  tone, 

Warning  me  of  mournful  changes, 
Ere  your  raging  blasts  are  gone. 

Still  the  angry  winds  are  wailing 

Loud  and  dismally  along ; 
And  their  piercing  tones  of  sadness 

Find  an  echo  in  my  song. 


1845. 


THE  GEM  OF  MEEKNESS. 
I  Ve  seen  that  maiden,  bright  and  fair, 
When  pearls  were  gleaming  in  her  hah* ; 
Her  waist  was  circled  by  a  zone 
Which  lustrously  with  jewels  shone. 


1843- 


CONTENTMENT.  363 

But  never  have  I  seen  before, 
Of  all  the  gems  she  ever  wore, 
One  half  so  brightly,  purely  fair, 
As  that  sweet  gem  of  meekness  there, 

Outrivaling  the  diamond's  glow, 
It  glistens  on  her  brow  of  snow ! 
That  gem  of  meekness — in  its  light 
This  lovely  girl  seems  strangely  bright. 


CONTENTMENT. 
In  thought  I  have  traversed  this  beautiful  world, 

Encompass'd  its  lands  and  its  seas, 
Wherever  my  country's  broad  flag  is  unfurl'd, 

And  sending  its  stars  on  the  breeze ; 

Have  stood  in  that  region  of  sunshine  and  gold, 
Where  war  has  been  raging  awhile : 

But  dearer — 0  !  dearer,  by  far,  to  my  soul 
Is  the  sweetness  of  home's  pleasing  smile. 

I  've  gazed  on  the  millions  who  toil  to  obtain 

A  treasure  of  glittering  ore — 
An  anchor  too  frail  on  the  storm-toss'd  main, 

When  tempests  around  them  shall  roar. 

I  behold  what  a  number  are  striving  for  fame, 
For  the  honours  which  earth  can  supply : 

At  best,  they  can  find  but  a  perishing  name — 
Let  mine  be  engraven  on  high  ! 


364  FOREST   MELODIES. 

And  give  me  the  wealth  of  affection  and  love, 
To  cheer  my  rough  pathway  below, — 

What  to  me  would  the  gold  of  the  universe  prove, 
If  no  spirit  with  mine  should  glow  ? 

April,  1848. 

THIS  IS  NOT  MY  REST. 

"  Arise  ye,  and  depart ;  for  this  is  not  jour  rest." 
Micah  ii,  10. 

Now  I  turn  with  heart- strings  bleeding 
To  my  blessed  Saviour's  breast, 

While  my  earthly  hopes  receding 
Warn  me  this  is  not  my  rest. 

Has  my  spirit  been  too  ardent 

In  its  searchings  after  bliss, 
That,  for  this,  a  note  discordant 

Should  arise  to  mar  my  peace  ? 

Strange  my  soul  should  be  forgetting 

That  its  rest  is  not  below, 
When  it  has  so  long  been  wetting, 

With  its  tears,  my  track  of  woe  ! 

Oft  have  I,  in  wildest  dreaming, 
Almost  deem'd  each  sorrow  fled, 

While  I  felt  the  blissful  gleaming 
Of  some  new  light  o'er  me  shed. 

Earthly  pleasures — 0  !  their  fleetness 
Startles  suddenly  my  heart ; 


THE    CHILD    AND    THE    FLOWERS.  365 

But  I  hear  in  tones  of  sweetness, 
"  This  is  not  your  rest — depart !" 

I  would  come,  ye  blest  immortals  ! 

To  your  purer  joys  on  high  ! 
Open  wide  those  starry  portals  ; 

Bid  me  welcome  to  the  sky  ! 

Aug.,  1848. 

THE  CHILD  AND  THE  FLOWERS. 
Child,  'mid  the  beautiful  flowers  at  play, 
Thou  art  as  fair  and  as  lovely  as  they : 
Twine  their  bright  stems  with  each  sunny  curl, 
Laugh  on  in  gladness,  thou  beautiful  girl ! 

Fresh  and  unsoil'd  as  the  violet  leaf, 
Bright  and  unshadow'd  by  earthly  grief, 
Is  the  startled  glance  of  thine  azure  eyes, 
Soft  as  the  depths  of  the  summer  skies. 

The  lovely  blossoms,  that  lure  thy  feet, 
Are  fitting  companions  for  one  so  sweet, — 
O  !  haste  thee  not  from  this  blooming  lawn, 
Till  thy  mother  calls,  or  the  day  is  gone. 

Thou  wilt  see  the  day,  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
When  thou  wilt  look  back,  through  the  mist  of 

years, 

With  a  wistful  glance  to  these  happy  hours, 
When  a  child  at  play  with  the  beautiful  flowers. 

1842. 


366  FOREST    MELODIES. 

IT  IS  WELL  THAT  IT  DIED. 

[Remark  of  Miss  Ermina,  in  reference  to  an  infant  whose 
parents  were  very  poor  and  wicked.] 

"  It  is  well  that  it  died  "—for  poverty's  seal 
Would  have  stamp'd  its  young  features  too 

soon; 
The  beautiful    flower,    crush'd,    blighted,    and 

spoil'd, 
Would  have  perish'd  ere  life's  coming  noon. 

"  It  is  well  that  it  died  "—for  earth  has  a  blight, 
Which  falls  on  the  young  and  the  pure  ; 

Though  the  world  may  smile  in  its  loveliest  light, 
Its  smiles  to  destruction  allure. 

"  It  is  well  that  it  died" — for  its  home  is  on  high, 
Where  the  sorrows  of  earth  never  come ; 

It  has  reach'd  that  pure  and  beautiful  sky, 
Through  whose  chambers  no  clouds  ever  roam. 

"  It  is  well  that  it  died  " — but  the  mother's  heart 
Will  not  think  such  a  providence  just ; 

It  requires  all  the  strength  which  faith  can  impart, 
To  commit  our  beloved  to  the  dust. 

1848. 

VOICES  OF  AUTUMN. 

The  autumn  winds  sweep  by  : 
Hear'st  thou  from  yonder  wood  their  solemn  tone  ? 
Hark !  hark  !  the  language  of  that  dismal  moan — 

"  Mortal,  prepare  to  die  ! 


VOICES    OF   AUTUMN.  867 

"  Cold,  adverse  winds  will  blow, 
And  soon  the  fearful  blasts  of  death  will  sear 
And  blight  the  flowers  which  bloom  on  life's 
parterre — 

Prepare  for  storms  of  woe." 

There  comes  another  voice 
From  nature's  faded  lips.     Ah  !  dost  thou  hear  ? 
How  solemn  are  their  tones,  how  soft  and  clear  ! 

"  Earth  has  no  lasting  joys." 

The  vine,  the  wither'd  vine, 
That  late  in  freshness  round  thy  casement  clung, 
Doth  with  an  eloquent,  a  lute-like  tongue, 

Unwritten  thoughts  define. 

It  tells  of  clustering  ties, 

Of  death,  and  change :  it  cries,  "  Beware,  beware ! 
Nor  'twine  the  heart's  affections  closely,  where 

The  vine  in  autumn  dies." 

I  hear  another  tone, 
A  voice  from  the  crush'd   flower  beneath  my 

tread  : 
It  bids  us  weep — weep  for  the  faded  dead 

Who  wither'd  one  by  one. 

It  whispers  : — "  Art  thou  glad, 
With  hopes  more  bright  than  thy  rose-tinted 
cheek  ? 


368  FOREST   MELODIES. 

Remember  this  dark  world  is  cold  and  bleak, 
And  both  alike  must  fade." 

From  yonder  changeful  tree 
The  voice  of  falling  leaves  salutes  my  ear — 
Listen !  it  comes  again — Dost  thou  not  hear  ? 

"  Prepare  to  fall  like  me  !" 

And  the  sweet  bird,  that  sings 
His  parting  hymn  upon  his  fav'rite  tree ; 
O  !  learn  the  lesson  that  he  teaches  thee — 

"  Prepare  to  spread  thy  wings  !" 

Happy  indeed  are  they 
Who  hear  these  voices  from  the  earth  and  sky, 
And,  hearing,  seek  a  better  home  on  high, 

Which  knows  no  dire  decay ! 


RACHEL. 

WRITTEN  UITDER  A  PICTURE   OF  HER  TOMB. 

There  they  laid  her  down  to  rest, 

Their  best  beloved  one  ; 
Strew'd  the  damp  earth  o'er  her 

When  the  soul  had  gone : 
Lowly  there  she  sleeps  alone, 
'Neath  the  white,  sepulchral  stone. 

Spot,  made  sacred  by  the  tears 
Of  the  patriarch  distressed  ! 


MY    NEW   HOME.  369 

Pilgrims  of  succeeding  years, 

Who  are  journeying  near  her  rest, 
Oft  shall  pause  with  thoughts  of  gloom, 
In  the  shade  of  Rachel's  tomb. 

1848. 

MY  NEW  HOME. 

And  here  I  must  watch,  in  their  beautiful  light, 
The  stars  of  the  evening  all  radiant  and  bright ; 
And  here  I  must  trace  the  soft  moonlight  of  even, 
And  list  to  the  swell  of  the  wild  winds  of  heaven  ; 
Here  watch  the  fierce  storm  on  its  dark  wintry 

wing, 
And  wait  for  the  smile  and  the  music  of  spring. 

I  must  hold  communion  with  scenes  that  are  new : 
The  fields  and  the  forests,  which  now  meet  my  view, 
Are  all  strange  as  the  friends  who  surround  me 

here, — 

I  brush  from  my  eyelid  one  sorrowful  tear ; 
For,  what  if  that  friend,  who  is  dearest  of  all, 
Should  behold  the  sad  tear  from  my  eyelid  fall ! 

Would  he  chide  me  for  weeping  ?    He  knows  my 

heart, — 

He  knows  for  his  sake  I  am  willing  to  part 
With  scenes  most  familiar,  with  friends  most 

beloved, 
With  haunts  where  my  footsteps  have  formerly 

roved : 

24 


370  FOREST    MELODIES. 

He  would  pardon  my  tears,  when  I  think  of  the 

past, 
As  my  heart  groweth  sad  in  the  wail  of  the  blast. 

But  I  '11  strive  to  be  cheerful  in  this  new  home, 
Though  my  heart  is  now  touch'd  with  a  shade  of 

gloom ! 

I  '11  dream  on  in  gladness  at  morning  and  even, 
And  watch  the  light  clouds  floating  soft  in  the 

heaven ; 

I  will  list  to  the  storm  on  its  wintry  wing, 
And  cheerfully  wait  for  the  breathings  of  spring. 

Jan.  ?8th,  1848. 

TO  REV.  W.  TRIPP. 
How  can  the  heart  refuse  the  simple  gift 

Of  wild  buds  gather'd  in  the  woodland  dell, 
When  these  can  serve  the  drooping  heart  to  lift. 
Of  some  dear  friend  whom  we  have  cherish'd 
well? 

And  how  could  I  refuse  the  humble  lay, 
Which  nature  gave  me  at  the  dawn  of  life, 

To  cheer  those  steps  that  tread  a  rugged  way, 
A  way  with  dangers  and  with  trials  rife  ? 

I  see  thee  with  a  pastor's  faithful  care, 

Leading  thy  thirsty  flock  to  fountains  bright ; 

Guarding  their  steps  from  every  dang'rous  snare. 
And  guiding  them  to  pastures  of  delight. 


TO    REV.    W.    TRIPP.  371 

I  deem  that  angels  o'er  a  path  like  thine 
Are  ever  hovering  with  expanding  wing, 

To  the  disconsolate  and  toil-worn  mind 

Delighting  a  sweet  solace -draught  to  bring. 

Do  not  the  smiles  of  heaven  fall  brightest  there, 
Where  to  the  world  stern  shadows  seem  to 

blend  ? 

I  know — I  know  !    Despite  those  clouds  of  care, 
Some  rays  of  sweetness  from  the  throne  de 
scend. 

Then,  Heaven-commission'd,  let  thy  soul  prevail 
In  the  sharp  contest  with  the  world  and  sin ! 

Vainly  the  powers  of  darkness  will  assail 
A  heart  that  has  the  Saviour  throned  within. 

What  though  thy  path  in  darkness  seem  to  lie, 
Far  from  the  shining  of  a  prosp'rous  sun  ! 

What  if  loud  tempests  gather  in  thy  sky, 
And  earthly  hopes  elude  thee  one  by  one ! 

Remember  that  a  holy  task  is  thine, 

A  lot  that  angels  well  might  wish  to  share ; 

To  lift  that  veil  which  shrouds  the  guilty  mind, 
And  pour  the  radiance  of  the  gospel  there. 

'T  is  thine  with  earnest  vigour  to  proclaim 
The  news  of  grace,  the  glorious  jubilee ; 

To  unbolt  the  prison  doors  in  Jesus'  name, 
And  set  the  weary,  sighing  captive  free. 


372  FOREST  MELODIES. 

And  when  thy  mission-work  is  ended  here, 
Quick  will  the  portals  of  the  sky  unfold ; 

Angels  will  beckon  from  their  sinless  sphere, 
And  Jesus  smile  on  thine  ascending  soul. 

And  honours  wait  thee  in  that  heavenly  clime, 
Honours  a  world  like  ours  can  ne'er  bestow  ; 

All  heaven  shall  hail  thee  with  a  peal  sublime, 
And  place  a  crown  on  thy  triumphant  brow ! 

Aug.,  1848. 

BEAUTY  EVERYWHERE. 
There's  beauty  in  the  sky  at  close  of  day, 

When  burnish'd  clouds  hang  o'er  the  setting 

sun; 

And  at  the  early  dawn,  when  the  first  ray 
Proclaims  his  glorious  course  but  just  begun. 

And  when  the  noon-tide  fervour  reigns  supreme, 
And  faintness  bows  the  frail,  white  blossom 
down ; 

When  languid  flows  the  warm,  meandering  stream, 
And  silence  spreads  her  dreamy  pinions  round ! 

0  !  there  is  beauty  on  the  moss-grown  knoll, 
And  in  the  covert  of  the  shadowy  trees  ; 

A  charm  that  whispers  to  the  inmost  soul 
Is  borne  upon  the  fragrant  summer  breeze. 

There  's  beauty  in  the  winged  storm,  when  night 
Rolls  the  huge  clouds  on  their  majestic  course : 


THE    LOST    ONE.  373 

There  's  glory  in  the  ribbon'd  lightning's  light, 
And  grandeur  in  the  thunder  pealing  hoarse. 

0  !  get  thy  heart  attuned  to  calm  delight, 
And  bid  the  hand  of  care  awhile  delay  ; 

Then  thou  shalt  see  a  beauty  always  bright, 
Shedding  its  sweetness  o'er  thy  weary  way. 

April,  1848. 

THE  LOST  ONE. 

Where  is  my  sister  ?     Years  have  pass'd 

Since  her  light  step  was  heard  ; 
Since  her  merry  tones  rung  joyously, 

Like  the  notes  of  the  singing  bird. 

Years  have  pass'd,  since  round  the  hearth, 

And  amid  the  springing  flowers, 
We  mingled  together  in  childish  mirth 

Through  the  long  and  happy  hours. 

Though  years  have  pass'd,  I  should  know  her 
now — 

That  brilliant  and  speaking  eye, 
The  peculiar  white  of  that  polish'd  brow, 

That  cheek  of  the  rose-leaf's  dye  ! 

1  should  know  her,  though  when  I  saw  her  last, 

Her  cheek  was  far  less  bright ; 
And  a  shade  was  over  her  features  cast 
From  her  robe  of  spotless  white. 


874  FOREST  MELODIES. 

BAPTISM  OF  TWO  INFANTS. 

[Death  had  visited  the  family  of  a  young  clergyman. 
The  cold  corpse  of  the  wife  and  mother,  was  placed  in  its 
white  shroud,  just  ready  to  be  carried  from  the  parsonage, 
to  return  no  more.  During  the  ceremony,  the  bowl,  which 
held  the  water,  stood  on  the  coffin  that  enclosed  the  dead.] 

Ere  that  sweet  friend  lias  left  thy  home 
For  her  still  dwelling  'neath  the  sod, 

Come,  thou  deserted  mourner,  come, 
And  consecrate  her  babes  to  God. 

Methinks  upon  each  forehead  bright 
Lingers  a  mother's  dying  kiss, — 

0,  sad  indeed,  the  sacred  rite 
In  such  a  mournful  hour  as  this ! 

That  mother — ah,  her  coffin-lid 

Serves  as  a  sacred  altar  now  ! 
Beneath  that  pall  is  darkly  hid 

Her  still,  sad  smile,  and  deathly  brow. 

Awhile  her  spirit  lingers  near, 

On  radiant  pinions  spread  for  heaven, 

Pausing  to  wipe  away  thy  tear, 

And  soothe  the  heart  by  sorrow  riven. 

O,  thou  bereaved  and  stricken  one, 
Bring  those  forsaken  babes  to-day  ; 

Ere  from  thy  door  that  hearse  is  gone, 
Thine  offspring  on  the  altar  lay. 


THE    REALM    OF    FANCY.  375 

A  mother's  prayers  may  shield  no  more, 
Her  love  no  longer  soothe  their  breast ; 

But  when  they  pass  from  time's  dark  shore, 
0  may  they  find  her  place  of  rest ! 


THE  REALM  OF  FANCY. 

Am  I  poor  ? 

Nay,  I  own  the  realm  of  thought, 
With  ideal  sunshine  fraught : 
Imagination's  utmost  flight 
Could  not  pass  its  fields  of  light. 

This  fair  realm 
Lies  not  in  the  distant  west 
Where  the  sun  sinks  bright  to  rest — 
Nay  !  a  milder  beaming  sky 
Makes  its  starry  canopy. 

There  the  flowers, 
Flowers  of  poesy  and  hope, 
Lift  their  deathless  petals  up ; 
There  the  wing  of  fancy  bright 
Gilds  the  streams  with  sacred  light. 

I  'd  not  give 

These  possessions  that  I  hold, 
For  the  richest  mines  of  gold, 
Though  they  cost  me  many  a  tear, 
Many  a  dark,  foreboding  fear. 


376  FOREST  MELODIES. 

0 !  I  love, 

When  a  cold  and  callous  world 
Hath  its  darts  of  envy  hurled — 
Then  I  love,  in  fancy's  clime, 
To  forget  the  griefs  of  time. 

Let  me  roam 

Ever  through  that  realm  of  light ; 
And,  in  fancy's  sunny  flight, 
Leaving  all  the  heartless  crowd, 
I  '11  forget  the  vain  and  proud, 
Deeming  all  the  wealth  of  earth 
And  its  joys  of  little  worth. 

1849. 

A  BRIDE'S  GREETING, 

OK  BEnra  INTRODUCED  TO  HER  HUSBAND'S  KINDRED. 

I  come  a  stranger  here, 
And  yet  as  one  who  knows  you  well, 
Whose  heart  with  yours  can  warmly  swell, 

Though  cold  it  may  appear. 

Dear  are  those  friends  to  me, 
Whose  sympathetic  spirits  lend 
A  ray  to  cheer  my  dearest  friend, 

In  sorrow  or  in  glee. 

I  love  the  stranger  heart, 
That  showers  its  kindnesses  on  him ; 
And  never  till  life's  star  burn  dim, 

Such  mem'ries  shall  depart. 


THE  YOUTHFUL  MOTHER.         377 

But  dearer  far  should  be 
The  friends  who  shaped  his  earlier  years, 
Who  shared  his  transport  and  his  tears — 

Yea,  dearer  far  to  me ! 

Parents,  whose  souls  entwine 
Around  the  heart  I  know  my  own, 
Who  gave  it  each  responsive  tone, 

I  call — I  call  you  mine ! 

Sisters,  who  used  to  rove 
With  him  in  childhood,  hand  in  hand — 
I  come  to  join  your  smiling  band, 

I  come  to  claim  your  love. 

I  come  a  stranger  here, 
And  yet  as  one  who  knows  you  well, 
Whose  heart  with  sympathy  can  swell, 

Whose  eye  can  drop  the  tear, 

7. 

THE  YOUTHFUL  MOTHER. 
She  clasp'd  upon  her  snowy  breast 

A  little,  playful  thing ; 
Like  a  sweet  dove  just  sunk  to  rest, 

With  folded,  drooping  wing. 

Her  dark  eye  rested  on  its  hair, 
With  slumber's  dew-drops  wet ; 

And  all  a  mother's  love  was  there, 
Among  those  curls  of  jet. 


378  FOREST  MELODIES. 

She  smiles  upon  the  sleeper  now 

With  such  a  placid  air, 
That  you  might  deem  she  never  knew 

One  thought  of  earthly  care. 

Perchance  just  now  her  kindling  eye 

Fondly  delights  to  trace 
The  look  which  won  her  youthful  heart, 

In  that  sweet  infant's  face. 

And  hope,  with  busy,  busy  hand, 

Is  twining  wreaths  of  joy  ; 
While  proud  ambition  loves  to  plan 

High  schemes  for  that  sweet  boy. 

But  does  no  thought  of  sorrow  blend 
With  hope  of  joys  to  come  ? 

No  danger,  in  the  future,  lend 
A  painful,  shadowy  gloom  ? 

Does  she  not  see  the  many  snares 
That  strew  life's  dangerous  way  ? 

The  countless,  dark,  corroding  cares, 
Which  cloud  the  brightest  day  ? 

Does  no  dark  presage  of  the  tomb 
Steal  to  that  mother's  breast, 

While  watching,  in  its  sweetest  bloom, 
Her  infant's  rosy  rest  ? 

She  knows  not  what  a  precious  flower 
'T  will  be  her  task  to  rear. 


1848. 


LAMENT   OF    A    CHILD.  370 

And  nourish  for  its  native  bower 
Within  a  holier  sphere ! 

O  mother  !  what  a  priceless  gem 

Unto  thy  care  is  given ! 
'Tis  thine — 'tis  thine  its  light  to  dim, 

Or,  polish  it  for  heaven  ! 


LAMENT  OF  A  CHILD, 

ON  BEING    REFUSED    PERMISSION    TO    SEE    A  COLLECTION  OP 
DRAWINGS   CARRIED  BY  A  BLIND  HAN. 

Go,  poor  man — go  !  I  may  not  gaze 
Upon  these  wonders  for  the  eye, — 

Vainly  for  me  do  limners  trace 
Earth's  beauty  and  sublimity. 

Go  ;  go  !  to  those  more  favoured  go, 
Carry  the  prize  I  may  not  see ! 

The  envied  sight  on  them  bestow, 
Since  the  rich  treat  is  not  for  me. 

'T  would  be  a  double  source  of  bliss, 
A  pleasure  that  I  fain  would  share ; 

Augment  the  blind  man's  happiness, 
And  feast  my  sight  with  riches  rare. 

Yet  go  !     This  pleasure  is  denied, 
And  I  must  calmly  acquiesce  ; 

But  still — I  turn  away  to  hide 

Feelings  which  tears  but  half  express. 


380  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Ah,  poor  old  blind  man !  thou  art  gone — 
Adieu — adieu — with  tears,  adieu ! 

My  fond  desires  must  be  withdrawn ; 
They  may  not  follow  after  you ! 

I  '11  go,  and  ask  of  Him  who  gave 
This  soul  a  love  for  the  sublime, 

To  grant  me  strength  the  winds  to  brave, 
The  adverse  winds  and  waves  of  time. 

1841. 

TO  AMANDA. 

There 's  much  of  beauty  thrown 

Along  the  way  we  take  ; 
These  mighty  forests,  huge  and  lone, 

A  sense  of  grandeur  wake. 

The  simple,  mossy  flowers, 

Beside  the  purling  rill — 
The  songsters  in  the  leafy  bowers, 

Which  can  the  bosom  thrill. 

The  gold  and  purple  mass 

Of  floating  clouds  at  even, 
Which  in  their  silent  beauty  pass, 

Like  spirits  wing'd  for  heaven. 

All  these,  my  gentle  friend, 

Have  charms  for  hearts  like  thine ; 

But  there  is  something  which  can  lend 
A  radiance  more  divine. 


DEATHLESS    AFFECTION.  381 

But  mind  ! — it  is  not  found 
Where  nature's  glories  shine  ; 

It  beams  on  higher,  holier  ground, — 
It  is  the  smile  divine  ! 

1848. 

DEATHLESS  AFFECTION. 

["  Is  she  gone  ?"  he  asked  in  a  tender  and  affecting  tone, 
"  Is  she  gone  without  me  ?" — MEMOIR  OF  REV.  D.  STOKER.] 

Who  is  she  that  comes  on  pinions  of  light  ? 

0,  tell  me,  thou  dying  one  !    . 
Who  is  she  that  vanishes  now  from  thy  sight, 

As  thou  askest,  alas !  "  Is  she  gone  ?" 

0 !  could  we  remove  the  curtains  that  screen 

Eternity's  light  from  each  brow, 
We  should  see  what  mortality  hath  not  seen, 

But  seems  half  disclosed  to  thee  now. 

We  might  see  a  band  of  the  bright  and  blest 

Encircling  thy  lowly  bed ; 
Waiting  to  bear  thee  away  to  thy  rest, 

When  the  arrow  of  death  has  sped. 

We  might  see  a  being,  with  seraph  smile, 

Press  close  to  thy  pillow  there ; 
Whose  presence  in  life  was  wont  to  beguile 

Thy  heart  of  its  wearisome  care. 

Whose  affection,  unchill'd  by  the  touch  of  death, 
Trembles  true  to  thy  pulse  as  ever ; 


382  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Whose  love  was  not  like  the  rose's  breath, 
Which  wastes  in  the  noontide  fervour. 

She  comes — she  comes  with  a  beautiful  band, 
To  escort  thee  away  to  the  blest ! 

Fly — fly,    thou  lone  pilgrim,  from  this  weary 

land- 
Go  home  to  thy  heavenly  rest ! 

1<M7. 

SUMMER  HAS  FLOWN. 

Summer  !  sweet  summer ! — art  thou  gone  ? 
How  have  thy  transient  moments  flown ! 

How  have  they  flown  to  me  ! 
These  summer  days  have  been  so  bright, 
So  rich  with  rays  of  borrow'd  light, 

They  could  not  fail  to  flee  ! 

When  I  beheld  thy  mornings  shine, 
Or  saw  thy  radiant  suns  decline, 

This  youthful  heart  was  bright 
With  purest  beams  of  joy  and  peace, 
Shed  from  the  Sun  of  righteousness, 

In  gladd'ning  streams  of  light. 

Summer !  I  saw  thy  brightest  bloom, 
And  revel'd  in  its  sweet  perfume — 

But  Sharon *s  Rose  was  mine  ; 
And  as  the  fragrant  flower  I  press'd 
With  fervour  to  my  glowing  breast, 

I  felt  its  power  divine. 


SUMMER    HAS    FLOWN.  383 

Summer  !  I  trod  thy  grassy  lawn 
At  evening,  and  at  early  dawn ; 

But,  0  !  by  faith  I  trod 
A  brighter,  holier  clime  than  this, 
A  land  of  pure,  unsullied  bliss, 

The  paradise  of  God. 

Ah,  summer  !  with  thy  latest  sigh, 
A  loved  one  pass'd  into  the  sky, 

From  all  her  sorrows  fled  ; 
Yes,  with  the  last,  sweet  fading  rose, 
She  sunk  to  undisturb'd  repose, 

The  slumber  of  the  dead. 

By  that  fair  friend,  these  summer  hours 
Have  not  been  spent  among  the  flowers, 

Nor  has  the  balmy  air 
Scarce  kiss'd  that  fading,  hectic  cheek — 
She  languish'd  long,  submissive,  meek, 

Debarr'd  from  scenes  so  fair. 

Where  an  eternal  summer  gleams, 
Her  spirit  all  immortal  beams, — 

Thither  I  hasten  on, 
T'  enjoy*  with  her  a  cloudless  day 
Of  summer  brightness,  whose  sweet  ray 

Shall  never  be  withdrawn. 

843. 


384  FOREST  MELODIES. 

CHILDHOOD'S  AFFECTION. 
Childhood's  affection,  like  the  sun, 

Shines  dim  through  morning's  haze, 
Although  the  fervid  rays  at  noon 

Concentrate  in  a  blaze  ; 
But  there  is  something  fresh  and  bright, 
That  mingles  with  its  earliest  light. 

0,  think  it  not  a  trifling  thing, 
The  love  of  that  young  breast ! 

It  is  a  pure  and  living  spring 
Of  heavenly  tenderness ; 

Affection  sweet,  without  disguise — 

O,  deem  it  not  a  worthless  prize. 

That  gushing  love  is  lavish'd  free 
On  all  things  bright  and  fair  ; 

The  bird,  the  butterfly,  the  bee, 
All,  all  its  influence  share : 

The  humble  violet  claims  that  love, 

As  well  as  the  bright  stars  above. 

Child  of  the  silken  ringlets  bright, 

I  love  thy  playful  glee ; 
The  ringing  laugh,  the  footstep  light, 

Have  charms  indeed  for  me : 
And  O,  how  sweet  the  fond  caress 
Of  innocence  and  loveliness ! 


THE    DONATION    VISIT.  365 

Who  would  not  over  the  young  heart 

Hold  a  resistless  sway  ? 
An  influence  that  could  impart 

A  beain  to  cheer  the  way, 
That  must  be  traced,  in  after  years, 
Through  clouds  of  woe  and  waves  of  tears  ? 

Fain  would  I  win  thy  guileless  love, 

Thou  of  the  violet  eye ! 
Then  on  the  tablet  of  thy  heart 

Write  something  pure  and  high ; 
Something  that,  through  eternity, 
Should  make  thee  love  and  think  of  me. 


THE  DONATION  VISIT. 

They  met,  the  joyous  and  the  fair, 
And  the  clear  lamp-light  shone 
On  many  a  bright  eye  beaming  there, 
And  many  a  brow  unmark'd  by  care, 
To  grief  and  tears  unknown. 

The  laugh  rung  merrily — but  weigh 'd 

Heavily  on  my  heart : 
I  thought  how  brightly  hope  portray'd 
Visions  of  life,  without  one  shade, 

Which  must,  alas  !  depart. 
25 


6  FOKEST   MELODIES. 

Fancy  was  tracing  far  away, 

Through  the  dim  mist  of  years, 
The  paths  where  those  glad  steps  would  stray, 
The  sorrows  of  some  future  day, 

In  this  lone  vale  of  tears. 

Some  of  that  group  she  saw  would  fall 

Into  an  early  tomb ; 
Others  would  tread  this  gloomy  ball, 
And  drink  from  sorrow's  cup  of  gall, 

Till  weary  of  their  doom. 

Ah !  who  may  tell  ?  What  thought  may  trace 

Their  course  beyond  this  life  ? 
Who  knoweth  the  deep  dreams  of  peace, 
The  whirlwinds  that  may  never  cease, 

The  spirit's  calm  or  strife  ? 

But  hark  !  amid  that  bustling  throng, 

Voices  grow  soft  and  low  ; 
They  cease — and  now  the  voice  of  song 
In  sacred  numbers  swells  along, 

In  deep,  harmonious  flow. 

And  now  upon  the  list'ning  ear 

The  music  dies  away ; 
And,  from  the  deep  hush'd  stillness  there, 
Rises  the  solemn  voice  of  prayer, 

In  holy  f-Tvenr>v. 


THE    WEEPING    CHILD.  387 

They  have  dispersed — that  joyous  throng, — 

Hush'd  is  the  laughing  tone ; 
And  all  that  to  that  hour  belong — 
The  voice  of  prayer,  the  voice  of  song — 

Forevermore  are  gone ! 


1845. 


THE  WEEPING  CHILD. 

"  Why  weepest  thou,  my  child  ?"  the  mother  said, 
Pressing  the  shining  curls  on  his  fair  head 

Closer  to  her  fond  breast : 
Long  had  she  sweetly  sung,  caress'd,  and  smiled, 
But  strove  in  vain  to  soothe  her  weeping  child, 

And  hush  him  to  his  rest. 

At  length  he  raised  his  bright  lips  to  her  ear, 
And  whisper'd,  "  Mother,  0  my  mother  dear, 

I  fain  would  quickly  go 
To  that  bright  land,  that  region  of  the  blest, 
Where  you  have  told  me  that  my  brothers  rest, 

Beyond  these  shades  of  woe." 

To  her  warm  heart  she  press'd  him  closer  still, 
Sobbing  in  tones  which  might  the  hard  rock 
thrill  :— 

"  My  child,  my  darling  one, 
And  wouldst  thou  trembling  bind  thy  petals  up, 
Before  from  happy  childhood's  buds  of  hope 

A  single  leaf  has  gone  ? 


388  FOREST  MELODIES. 

"  O,  weepest  thou,  ere  scarce  a  tie  is  riven, 
Weepest  so  early  for  the  rest  of  heaven  ? 

What  can  console  thy  heart, 
When,  farther  on  in  the  dark  way  of  life, 
Thou  seest  amid  the  tempest-warring  strife, 

Each  earthly  hope  depart  ? 

"My  child,  my  child — 'midst  trials  new  and 

strange, 
0,  mayst  thou  ever  keep  a  heart  unchanged, 

In  innocence  and  love  ; 

A  heart  that  still  shall  look  beyond  the  earth, 
Deeming  its  pleasures  as  of  little  worth, 

Compared  with  those  above !" 

1845. 

THE  PARTING  HOUR. 

We  parted,  and  affection's  tear 
Burn'd  on  my  cheek  awhile  ; 

But  cloudy  skies  may  quickly  wear 
A  happy,  sunny  smile, 

And  tears  which  mark  the  parting  hour, 

How  like  the  sudden  passing  shower ! 

I  wander'd  forth,  and  cheerfulness 
Beam'd  all  around  my  way  : 

My  spirit  caught  the  tranquil  bliss, 
Which  gleam'd  in  every  ray 

Of  pearly  light  that  rested  sweet 

On  dew  and  flower  beneath  my  feet. 


THE    WILD    RG8E.  39 

How  gladly  all  things  seem'd  to  smile ! 

With  what  a  holy  light ! 
The  azure  heavens  were  glowing  mild, 

And  the  pure  sun  how  bright ! 
How  could  I  be  unhappy  where 
All  nature  smiled  so  sweetly  fair  ? 

The  quiv'ring  vine,  the  rustling  leaf, 
The  breeze  which  inurmur'd  by, 

All  seem'd  to  chide  me  for  my  grief, 
And  bid  my  sadness  fly ; 

And  every  wind  and  every  flower 

Spoke  of  a  happy  meeting-hour. 

THE  WILD  ROSE. 

I  came  from  the  forest — they  call  me  wild, 
For  I  grew  where  the  sunbeam  seldom  smiled  ; 
I  bloom'd  in  the  shade  of  the  brier  and  brake, 
On  the  lonely  bank  of  a  beautiful  lake. 

No  gentle  hand  train'd  me — exempt  from  all  care 
I  shed  my  rich  fragrance  in  solitude  there  : 
I  met  not  the  glance  of  admiring  eyes, 
Nor  blush'd  in  the  glare  of  the  open  skies. 

How  lone  my  seclusion !  there  sacred  and  still, 
The  soft  dews  of  heaven  my  petals  would  thrill, 
And  the  breeze  was  more  pure,  and  no  sound  was 

heard 
Save  the  noise  of  waters,  and  the  song  of  the  bird. 


390  FOREST   MELODIivS. 

But  at  length,  as  a  stranger  with  searching  eye, 
By  my  fragrance  attracted  was  drawing  nigh, 
He  thought  of  his  sister  who  loved  the  wild 

flowers, 
And  he  brought  me  to  bloom  in  her  garden 

bowers. 

Yes,  he  tore  me  away  from  the  soil  where  I  grew, 
Introduced  me  to  friends,  and  to  scenes  which 

were  new ; 

But  I  sigh  for  the  forest,  the  brier  and  brake, 
And  the  cooling  breeze  from  that  lonely  lake. 

'Midst  others  more  fragrant,  for  many  a  year, 
I  have  grown,  and  budded,  and  blossom'd  here, 
Till  the  eye  that  first  saw  me  is  shrouded  in 

gloom, 
Till  the  hand  that  transplanted  me  rests  in  the 

tomb. 

Ye  lovers  of  solitude,  think  of  my  lot ! 
Who  are  pining  like  me  for  some  lonely  spot ; 
Ye  know  full  well  that  the  land  of  our  birth 
Is  the  loveliest  place  on  the  wide-spread  earth. 

Take  the  cold  world's  friendship — the  meed  of 

fame — 

The  admiring  gaze — the  applauded  name, — 
But  give  me  back  the  secluded  wilds, 
Where  fashion's  votary  never  Miiilt  s  ! 


MUSINGS.  391 

Give  back  the  sounds  I  have  loved  so  long, 
The  dashing  waves  and  the  woodbird's  song, 
The  twilight  shades  where  the  fire-flies  wake, 
And  all  the  scenes  of  my  lonely  lake  ! 


MUSINGS. 
When  another  moon  shall  wane, 

If  standing  where  I  'm  gazing  now, 
What  thought  of  agonizing  pain 

Shall  be  depicted  on  my  brow  ? 
Or,  shall  these  intervening  days 

Bring  such  a  weight  of  earthy  bliss, 
As  to  demand  my  willing  praise, 

And  swell  my  heart  with  happiness  ? 

O  !  what  a  depth  of  sacred  joy 

May  soon  unto  my  heart  be  given — 
Perchance,  the  sweets  that  never  cloy, 

The  pleasures  of  my  destined  heaven ! 
Yea,  ere  another  moon  shall  wane, 

I  may  be  sleeping  cold  and  low, 
And  evening  shed  her  dewy  rain, 

Like  mourners'  tears,  above  my  brow. 

Thou  waning  moon,  thou  waning  moon  ! 

Tell  me,  ere  thou  shalt  fill  thy  horn, 
What  thoughts  of  sweetness  yet  unknown 

May  be  unto  my  spirit  borne  ? 


392  FOttUST   MELODIES. 

What  new  events,  that  in  their  change 
Are  surely  for  my  good  design'd, 

Shall  waken  feelings  new  and  strange 
To'  enrapture,  or  to  pain  my  mind  ? 

I  may  not  know — in  vain  I  ask, 

But  time  the  iccord  shall  disclose  ; 
Meanwhile  be  mine  the  sacred  task 

To  follow  where  my  duty  goes. 
O !  may  I  watch  ray  erring  heart, 

And  so  improve  each  passing  hour, 
That  peace,  though  all  beside  depart, 

May  linger  with  her  soothing  power! 

1847. 

THE  ORPHAN  GIRL, 

We  met,  when  the  summer's  richest  light 
Had  tinged  each  flower  with  hues  more  bright, 
And  flush'd  the  blue  skies — yet  her  cheek  was 

pale 
As  the  sweet  spring  lily  that  droops  in  the  vale. 

She  stood  in  a  group  of  the  young  and  the  fair, 
She  smiled  among  those  who  were  strangers  to 

care ; 

Yet  her  smile,  with  a  touching  sadness  blent, 
A  pensive  charm  to  each  feature  lent. 

0,  the  melting  expression  of  that  sweet  eye ! 
With  the  darken  *d  lashes  bent  droopingly  ! 


THE    INFIDEL.  393 

The  tones  of  her  voice  were  as  thrillingly  deep, 
As  the  plaintive  night-wind's  mournful  sweep. 

Strange  fancies  were  rising  within  my  breast, 
While  I  saw  that  brow  with  beauty  impressed ; 
Methought  a  shade,  from  the  pinions  fair 
Of  her  angel  mother,  was  resting  there. 

Poor,  lonely  Amelia !  my  heart  has  bled, 
While  tracing  the  path  which  thy  feet  must  tread ; 
Yet  't  is  sweet  to  think,  that  on  land  or  tide, 
The  God  of  the  orphan  shall  be  thy  guide. 

1845. 

THE  INFIDEL. 
O'er  Erie's  waters  calmly  bright 

A  vessel  urged  its  trackless  way, 
And  swiftly,  in  its  westward  flight, 

It  bore  the  joyous  and  the  gay. 

Some  had  begun  for  wealth  to  roam, 
Leaving  their  warmest  friends  behind ; 

And  others,  homeless,  sought  a  home, 
Which  grief  and  want  might  fail  to  find. 

And  some  perchance  were  there  who  sought. 

Not  for  the  riches  of  the  west, 
But  for  some  sweet,  some  hallow'd  spot, 

By  a  beloved  one's  footsteps  press'd. 

And  one,  a  dark-soul'd  atheist, 
Scatter 'd,  with  fearful  industry, 


394  FOREST 

Books  which  reviled  the  name  of  Christ 
And  sneer'd  at  heavenly  piety. 

The  thunders  sound  a  distant  knell, 

The  lightnings  wreathe  the  rising  cloud  ; 

Lo !  how  the  fearful  billows  swell ! 

And  hark !  the  tempest  wild  and  loud ! 

See  !  there  is  one  who  trembles  now ; 

Mark  well  his  look  of  deep  despair ! 
Frenzy  is  written  on  his  brow, 

And  lo  !  he  kneels, — he  kneels  in  prayer  ! 

Poor  trembler !  wherefore  kneel'st  thou  there  ? 

Why  lift  thy  frantic  eyes  to1  heaven  ? 
Why  raise  that  wildly -fervent  prayer  ? 

Why  askest  thou  to  be  forgiven  ? 

'T  is  strange,  for  late  we  heard  thee  say, 
There  is  no  power  in  Jesus'  blood  ; 

I  have  no  sins  to  wash  away  j 

There  is  no  Jieaven — no  hell — no  God  ! 

"  0  God !"  he  cried ;  but  hark  !  a  crash — 
A  deadly  pause — and  yet  one  more ; 

A  deeper  surge — a  lurid  flash — 

And  all  with  that  poor  wretch  is  o'er ! 

That  awful  scene  is  o'er — but  still 
The  wailing  winds  and  boiling  flood 

Whisper — nay,  thunder  :  "  Man,  be  still, 
And/<?<7,  and  know  there  it  •/  (,'•>.?/' 

IMS. 


A    RICH    LEO  AC  Y.  305 

EVENING  PRAYER. 
Jesus,  as  I  sink  to  rest, 

On  my  pillow  now, 
Let  me  lean  upon  thy  breast, 

Hold  my  aching  brow  ! 
Thus,  when  I  must  sink  in  death. 

Be,  my  Saviour,  near — 
Let  me  pour  my  latest  breath 

Into  thy  listening  ear. 

A  RICH  LEGACY. 

[Few  children  arc  left  with  such  a  heritage  as  yours — a 
thousand  prayers  of  a  devout  mother  had  in  remembrance 
before  God. — MEMOIRS  OF  MBS.  DWIGHT."] 

Wouldst  thou  covet  stores  of  gold, 
Richest  mines  of  wealth  untold  ? 
With  thy  child  can  riches  stay  ? 
Nay,  they  swiftly  pass  away  ; 
Bubbles  they  have  proved  to  be, 
Empty  bubbles  on  life's  sea. 

Wouldst  thou  have  his  dear,  dear  name 
Blazon 'd  on  the  scroll  of  fame  ? 
Like  the  breeze  that  hurries  past, 
Earthly  fame  can  never  last ; 
'T  is  a  sound  along  the  shore, 
An  echo  that  returns  no  more* 


396  lOUEbl   MKLOD1KS. 

Seek  no  longer  glitt'ring  dust, 
Sordid  lure  to  earthly  trust — 
For  thine  offspring  seek  not  fame, 
'T  is  a  poor  unmeaning  name — 
Let  this  legacy  be  theirs, 
A  mother's  truly-fervent  prayers. 

Since  our  loving,  glorious  Lord 
Never  can  forget  his  word, 
These  petitions  shall  arise 
To  the  Ruler  of  the  skies, 
And  come  laden  from  above 
With  the  choicest  gifts  of  love. 


A  SONG. 

(  I  had  not  thought  in  such  a  world 

To  find  a  heart  like  thine, 
That  could  have  felt  the  weaknesses, 
And  borne  the  faults  of  mine. 

I  had  not  thought,  e'en  when  I  found 

My  spirit  lean'd  on  thee, 
That  I  might  dare  expect  on  earth 

Such  constant  sympathy. 

I  knew — I  knew  the  nobleness 
Which  in  thy  spirit  dwells  ; 


MY    SABBATH-SCHOOL    CLASS.  397 

And  thought  I  knew  the  tenderness 
With  which  thy  bosom  swells  ; 

But  had  not  thought  in  such  a  world 

To  find  a  heart  like  thine, 
That  could  have  borne  the  weaknesses 

And  all  the  faults  of  mine.  ^ 

Jan.,  1S48. 

MY  SABBATH-SCHOOL  CLASS. 
Among  the  many  ties  that  bind  my  soul 
To  the  bright  home  behind  me,  there  is  one, 
One  tender  link  that  memory  often  draws, 
Till  the  full  tear  comes  swelling  to  my  eye  ! 
My  Sabbath  scholars — 0  !  I  love  them  well — 
That  little  group  of  happy,  rosy  girls, 
Who  for  instruction  hung  upon  my  lips, 
With  whom  I  conversed  oft  on  sacred  things, — 
I  see  them  now  as  when  I  met  them  there, 
In  listening  attitude,  with  thoughtful  brow, 
And  those  clear  eyes  intently  fix'd  on  mine. 
I  loved  them ;  but  methinks  the  parting  pang, 
The  anxious  tear,  would  more  than  be  repaid 
Could  this  reflection  evermore  be  mine, — 
I  helped  to  sow  the  seed  in  those  young  hearts 
That  shall  spring  up  to  everlasting  life. 

Feb.,  1848. 


LIFE  IS  TRANSIENT. 
This  life  is  fleeting  as  a  dream, 

Which  waits  not  for  the  dawn  : 
How  transient  all  its  pleasures  seem  ! 

How  soon  its  cares  are  gone  ! 
Yea,  't  is  a  dream  of  joy  and  grief, 

A  dieam  of  hopes  and  fears — 
Inconstant  life  !  how  short,  how  brief 

Thy  passing  hour  appears  ! 

A  SHADOW. 

The  shadow  of  the  leafy  spray 

Quivers  o'er  the  curtain  now, 
Till  the  last  sweet  sun-set  ray 

Dies  upon  my  brow  : 
So  earthly  hope,  which  round  our  hearts 

Doth  refreshing  sweetness  fling, 
Shall  vanish  when  the  soul  departs — 

A  shadowy  thing. 

AN  EPITAPH. 
Sweet  sisters,  how  early  ye  fell ! 

How  suddenly  sunk  to  the  tomb  ! 
The  one  had  scarce  murmur'd,  farewell, 

Ere  the  other  had  follow'd  her  home. 


A    DREAM    OF    THE    DEAD.  093 


THE  OPEN  AIR. 

When,  by  weariness  oppress'd, 
I  hie  rne  to  the  open  air ; 

When  I  feel  a  deep  unrest, 
Oft  I  seek  a  solace  there. 

When  some  intermeddling  care 
Hath  all  day  embarrass'd  me, 

Then  I  seek  the  open  air, 

For  a  breath  more  pure  and  free. 

Something  shines  in  nature's  eye, 
Which  allays  the  spirit's  strife ; 

Something  in  the  depths  on  high, 
Breathing  purer,  holier  life. 


A  DREAM  OF  THE  DEAD. 

In  her  white  hand  she  bore 
A  wreath  of  flowers  perennial,  such  as  spring 
Beside  the  well  of  life  on  mat  blest  shore 

Where  seraph  voices  ring. 

She  had  the  same  sweet  face 
That  shed  its  light  upon  my  childhood's  hours, 
But  it  had  caught  a  sweeter,  holier  grace 

From  von  celestial  bowers. 


400  FOREST  MELODIES. 

Since  we  together  dwelt, 
She  had  been  ranging  an  immortal  clime, 
Free  from  each  touch  of  care,  or  stain  of  guilt, 

Or  shade  of  grief  or  time. 

Her  soul  had  laved  its  wing 
In  the  blest  fountain  of  eternal  love  ; 
And  she  had  tuned  her  harp  where  angels  sing, 

In  the  bright  courts  above. 

And  I — my  path  had  been 
On  through  a  mystic  realm  of  doubt  and  shade, 
A  world  of  woe,  a  clime  defiled  by  sin, 

Where  hopes  the  brightest  fade. 

A  moment  at  my  side, 
She  spoke  of  pleasures  that  may  never  die ; 
Told  me  I  soon  should  cross  death's  stormy  tide, 

And  meet  her  in  the  sky. 


THE    END. 


